


Fighting The Dark

by PennedByLynn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, BAMF Hermione Granger, Blind Character, Blind Draco Malfoy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, F/M, Flashbacks, Not Epilogue Compliant, Slow Burn, Smart Hermione Granger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-02-14 06:23:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13001736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PennedByLynn/pseuds/PennedByLynn
Summary: When an auror raid goes terribly wrong, Draco Malfoy is struck by a spell from an unknown assailant leaving him blind. This story chronicles his journey in the aftermath, with a certain bushy-haired clever witch surprisingly at his side.--“Listen here, Malfoy. I’ve had enough of your self-pitying nonsense. You could choose to adapt to your new life, to learn a different method of doing things. But instead, you lie in this bed and you brood about the injustice of your situation. I’ve seen people in far worse situations than yours. People get hurt every day and I could very well be helping them. Yet here I am, standing by your bedside [...] But I absolutely refuse to help someone who doesn’t even attempt to help himself. I’ve known you to be many things but I never thought you were a quitter. You can moan all you like but your life is not over. You’re not even twenty, for Merlin’s sake! There’s a lot of work left to be done and there’s a lot more of this world for you to experience. Now, what are you going to do about it?”





	1. Chapter 1

{November 23rd, 2001}  

Draco Malfoy was rarely anxious. Intimidated? Occasionally. Frightened? Every so often. But anxious? Hardly ever. It was only in the past several months that the emotion had begun to surface at all.

Malfoys don’t get nervous. It’s not that they mask it, as they do with nearly every other emotion. It just never makes an appearance, so it’s not something they needed to hide. It’s not that Malfoys didn’t get scared. They did. Bravery was not a trait associated with the family name. The reason had more to do with the fact that many of them were puffed too full of false confidence. Power has a way of over-inflating egos, of erasing any need for anxiety. Power means you are in control. There’s no reason to be nervous if you believe you know the outcome.

But as Draco sat scratching his arm, anxiety was the only emotion coursing through him. Had he been more introspective, he might have noticed the traces of desperate hope and dread that lingered as well. Draco had spent enough time examining his life and his choices; there was no time for that today.

“You have to stop. You’re going to draw blood again like last time.” The words were spoken softly but they carried enough weight to make Draco listen. He scowled but knew she was right. Of course she was right. He even knew that she was just as anxious as he was, although a fraction more hopeful. He knew her better than anyone. Yet, now was not the time to dwell on this fact either.

That time would likely come in an hour or two, when he inevitably returned home, once again alone and dejected. She knew better than to try to talk to him under those circumstances. Of course she knew what he would be feeling. She knew him better than anyone.

Draco’s nervous energy was now finding its way out through his feet. The accelerated tapping of his shoe filled the small and otherwise silent room. Silent, that is, for everyone other than Draco.

He was all too aware of the scraping of teeth against fingernails, of the shallow breathing beside him, of the very buzz of magic in the air. The tapping seemed to be a better idea than the scratching; one loud noise to focus on was better than the various quieter sounds that were constantly drawing his attention.

It hadn’t always been this way. A year and a half ago, Draco wouldn’t have noticed a thing. A year and a half ago, the noises competing for attention were the shouts of wizards and witches and spells whizzing across open fields and cramped corridors. A year and a half ago, he could still see.

Nobody had noticed the spell being cast. Nobody heard the words that changed Draco Malfoy’s life. And nobody else saw the beam of purple light that had been headed straight for Hermione Granger.

It was a twisted stroke of fate that had caused Draco to turn and pay attention at that very moment. Afterwards, he was constantly harassed by the same question: Why?

It came from the other aurors, from Hermione, from his mother, from the few friends he had managed to keep. It even came from himself.

Why did he feel compelled to throw Hermione out of the way? Why did he act like a bloody Gryffindor? Why did he act on this new instinct instead of sticking to the self-preservation that had been drilled into him since birth? It was a constant fixation for months which turned into a late night obsession which eventually ceased to matter. The reason was no longer important to him.

The fact was that he had saved her.

It was done.

Finished.

Despite the hell of those first few months, he knows he wouldn’t have changed his actions if given a second chance. Maybe he would have tried to block the spell with something other than his face. Maybe an arm or a leg or even the back of his head would have been better options. Maybe they would have been far worse.

Honestly, it was a bit surprising he remained unscathed for as long as he did. There were countless others who hadn’t been so lucky. The Battle at Hogwarts had rendered the most casualties, but the two following years were not without stain.

Although Voldemort had been defeated, there was still the matter of rounding up the remaining Death Eaters. The ones who hadn’t been killed or defeated during the final battle had immediately gone into hiding. With virtually no knowledge or clues as to their whereabouts, the Ministry was at a loss.

That’s where Draco came in.

His father now in Azkaban, Draco had taken over as the head of the Malfoy household. Narcissa had been cleared for assisting Harry and since Draco had still been an underage wizard when he took the mark, he was also cleared. Unlike his mother though, he was let off with a warning. He had one year to “benefit wizarding society,” whatever that meant, or face the possibility of an Azkaban sentence.

 He made donation after donation at his mother’s insistence, trying to both fulfill his obligation as well as bring the family name back to the elevated and respected level it once held. Nothing worked.

Eventually he heard of the failed attempts to capture the remaining Death Eaters. Although it took a bitter, bitter blow to his pride and resulted in more than a few nights of self-loathing, he applied for a position as an auror. He was accepted and transferred to a new department created specifically to deal with the Death Eater problem.

His co-workers, including know-it-all Hermione Granger, were cold and distant. His supervisors were distrustful and threw him most of the grunt work. The few pureblood families that had remained amiable immediately following the war quickly disappeared.

And yet, Draco was… pleased. Oddly enough, he found that he liked the strategic planning and the rigorous training. He felt accomplished and rewarded for the first time in his life. Not that he admitted that to anyone.

He worked hard for nearly two years and he was proud. Because he knew of several secret Death Eater safe houses, he even orchestrated a few raids. Including his last.

It was supposed to be the department’s final raid. Dolohov, who had narrowly survived a duel with Flitwick at Hogwarts, was the last Death Eater at large. The planning had gone without a hitch. The execution, however, had not.

It was an ambush.

Dolohov had apparently made some new friends in Germany and the aurors were completely outnumbered. It was pure chaos. Spells were flying everywhere and in the one, solitary moment of clarity that Draco had, he saw a spell being cast at Hermione Granger. And that’s when everything went black.

Draco shook his head. He’d spent too much time mulling over what ifs and he was frantically trying to avoid them now. They were there, though, lurking at the edges of his mind. What if this treatment didn’t work? What if he’d put himself through all this just to be disappointed again? It’s not as if these were crazy questions. They were, unfortunately, all too legitimate.

The truth of the matter was that this was Draco’s seventh treatment attempt in a year and a half. All of them were spearheaded by none other than Hermione herself. It started out, Draco was convinced, as a way to repay her debt, as a way to make up for not being able to answer why. After all, if Hermione didn’t have the answer, who would?

As soon as Draco’s diagnosis was confirmed, she was off to the library. She threw herself into researching anything and everything she could find on the subject. She interviewed his healers and reviewed any information they had. She also avoided Draco as much as possible. What do you say to someone who could have lost his life saving yours? In many ways, Draco had felt that was already the case. After all, who had heard of a blind wizard? It was a joke. Everything he knew had been stripped away.

Those first few months were an endless cycle of self-pity and loathing. Rather pathetic and quite the overreaction, in retrospect. He dared a single soul to say he was inadequate now; with the passage of time he certainly changed his outlook as well as those of others who had doubted him. But back when it was still so fresh, when his world had been so completely altered…

The first crushing blow was the loss of his future plans. Continuing as an auror was obviously out. Instead of a leader, he’d be nothing more than a casualty if he went on a raid now. He’d be completely unable to protect himself, let alone actually fight anyone. Gods, that was a contemptible image: Draco shooting spells with no ability to aim at or even discern a target.

And then there was the matter of his entire lifestyle. Nearly all magic required sight. He couldn’t transfigure an item if he couldn’t point his wand at it. He couldn’t levitate anything without the ability to see where the object was located. Hell, he couldn’t even play quidditch any longer! What good is a seeker that has no way of locating the snitch?

He’d felt useless, completely and utterly useless. He was sure he’d had every ounce of independence stripped away from him. He wouldn’t be able to get anywhere unaccompanied. He’d probably never be able to live on his own. His thoughts spiraled, his mind twisting him and leading him to believe that he would always be chained to someone else, needing a guide or some other form of assistance.

And what was to become of his appearance? His pristine appearance was one of the few things he’d always had going for him.

As if he hadn’t sunk low enough in the wizarding community. Any advancement that Draco had made by becoming an auror was yanked from him grasp. Nobody would take him seriously anymore. They’d be too overwhelmed by either pity or satisfaction at his condition. He’d already seen – correction: heard – it from the few people that had bothered to visit. He was nothing more than a cripple to them now. He’d be a burden to some and the rest would simply be glad not to deal with him anymore.

With the exception of his mother’s frequent visits and Blaise’s occasional ones, Hermione Granger was the only constant in that volatile time in his life. And it was not exactly a welcome constant. She was either an inquisitive little bugger or a delusional optimist: he never knew which one he was going to get.

Even before the incident, Draco & Hermione’s relationship had been somewhat civil on the best of days. While there were no screaming matches, there were heated looks and cold shoulders. A strong resentment seemed to linger from their school days. They had never gotten along and they had accepted that they never would.

Truth be told, Draco found the whole situation rather amusing. He’d bait her and she would do her best to appear unaffected. Draco’s life may not have been according to plan, but this was normal. Perhaps it wasn’t mature, but it was normal.

It was an odd little routine they had established but there was a sort of familiarity in it. Ever since Draco’s injury, however, that routine had been shattered.

She was suddenly in much closer proximity than usual and she tended to hang around longer. If he hadn’t been suffering through what he might later label as depression, he would have seized this opportunity to try out all sorts of new jabs. As it was though, he was feeling rather lackluster.

The few times that he had tried to insult or taunt her, she had zero reaction. The only indication that she had even heard his pathetic attempts was the increase in the speed of her quill across the parchment. Once, he’d even heard her muttering about “thinning patience” and “necessary lashing out.”

The only topics they bothered to discuss were about Draco’s condition. She’d ask lengthy, academic questions and he would answer in as few words as possible. That was the extent of their interactions until Hermione had decided to breach the gap.

Her first thank you attempt had failed. Draco had pretended to be asleep. He felt she kind of deserved it for just bursting in and spitting it out, without any warning or precursor. He heard the whole thing and before the injury, he probably would have responded. But what do you say to someone who escaped without a scratch while your entire world came crashing down?

He spent days trying to come up with the answer and was prepared to give it when she thanked him the second time, but he never got the chance.

_{July 3 rd, 2000}_

_The door to Draco’s right burst open. Although it was pointless, he turned his head in the direction of the noise, his eyes remaining tightly shut. Hermione’s determined footsteps stomped across the room, stopping only when she reached his bed._

_The next thing he knew, his blankets were ripped off and his pillow was yanked from beneath his head._

_“What in the hell do you think –“ he started._

_“Get out of bed,” came the command._

_Draco scoffed at her feeble attempt. It would take a lot more than that to get Draco Malfoy to obey Hermione Granger. Honestly, she was supposed to be the smart one?_

_“I’m not joking, Malfoy. You are going to get out of that bed and you are going to quit skulking around. You have been here three weeks and I haven’t seen you move from that same position. It’s pathetic.”_

_“Pathetic?” growled Draco. “What exactly would you prefer that I do? Take a lap around the room so that I can fall flat on my face? I’m sure you’d love to see that. I hate to disappoint you Granger but I refuse.”_

_“I don’t care what you do as long as it’s something! This is ridiculous. You’re not the only person to ever suffer spell damage. There’s no reason why you can’t live –“_

_“A full and happy life. Get some new material, will you? I’ve heard all this bullshit before. But while we’re on the subject, have you ever heard of a blind wizard? How many of them are gallivanting around with full and happy lives?” Draco would never admit it but this felt good. It was familiar territory, arguing with Granger. He felt more alive than he had in weeks._

_She stayed silent for a minute, no doubt trying to come up with some lame anecdote. “There are plenty of blind people who are independent. They leave their houses, they contribute to society, they –“_

_“Muggles! They are muggles! Look I may not be the same bigoted arse that I was at Hogwarts but do not dare place me in the same category with them. Besides, you just admitted defeat. By comparing my situation to a muggle you concede that being a blind wizard is an oxymoron. It’s not possible.”_

_She let a noise that was something between a grunt and a squeal. He hadn’t heard her foot stomp but he could very well imagine her doing so in his head. She was so predictable._

_“Listen here, Malfoy. I’ve had enough of your self-pitying nonsense. You could choose to adapt to your new life, to learn a different method of doing things. But instead, you lie in this bed and you brood about the injustice of your situation. I’ve seen people in far worse situations than yours. People get hurt every day and I could very well be helping them. Yet here I am, standing by your bedside, holding a potential cure that you don’t even deserve.”_

_“What did you say?” he whispered. He must have heard her wrong. Nobody had been able to figure out what curse he’d been struck with, let alone attempted to find a reversal. It simply wasn’t possible._

_“You heard me. I think I may have found a cure. But I absolutely refuse to help someone who doesn’t even attempt to help himself. I’ve known you to be many things but I never thought you were a quitter. You can moan all you like but your life is not over. You’re not even twenty, for Merlin’s sake! There’s a lot of work left to be done and there’s a lot more of this world for you to experience. Now, what are you going to do about it?”_

Thus began a cycle which had since been repeated six times. If Hermione’s research was stage one, putting the plan into action was stage two. It involved contacting experts and conducting experiments of her own. The truth was that she was in the dark almost as much as he was. While his was literal and all encompassing, hers was theoretical but just as oppressive. She had no idea what curse had been cast, no clue as to what could change Draco’s fate. Hermione, however, had never backed down from a challenge and she certainly wasn’t about to start.

Each treatment attempt had ended in failure and Draco was nervous that today’s appointment would yield the same results.

It wasn’t that Draco needed a favorable outcome, per say. Truth be told, he was rather proud of what he’d come to accomplish in the past year and a half. During the ten months that he was stuck in St. Mungo’s, he’d gone through a rehabilitation program of sorts. Hermione’s words had eventually clicked. He couldn’t just lie around forever, feeling sorry for himself. If he was essentially going to re-learn how to live his life, he had a lot of work to do.

The main issue was that there was zero precedent for this in the wizarding world. Magic was so often able to heal any sort of ailment that there had never been a real need for this sort of program to be established. Hermione had offered to conduct more research to assist him but Draco had strongly refused. There was no way he was going to have a member of the beloved “Golden Trio” watch as he fumbled along.

He’d insisted that he be taught by a professional, someone trained. And preferably someone who wouldn’t take pleasure in seeing Draco Malfoy knocked down a few notches. After presenting a compelling case to the Ministry, and using a bit of her influence from her role in the war, Hermione was able to bring someone in. It wasn’t until months later that Draco found out that Mr. Belter used to work at a muggle rehabilitation center for the blind. That meant Hermione had managed to convince the Ministry to breach the Statute of Secrecy for this; she was far more persuasive than Draco had given her credit for.

He’d worked with Mr. Belter nearly every day and he managed to regain most of his independence. Later, after he had been released from St. Mungo’s, Hermione had worked with him on ways for him to use his magic. He’d worked hard and the dedication had certainly paid off. So Draco wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t “need” the results to be positive. But did he long for them to be?

Absolutely.

Maybe it sounded like taking the easy way out but what was so wrong about wanting his old life back? Could anyone really blame him for wanting to stare once more at a sunset or a starry night sky or the face of the woman he loved? These were the images that filled his dreams each night; he yearned to see them again with his own two eyes.

Before he could dwell on his convoluted thoughts for a second longer, the door creaked open.

“Mr. Malfoy, this way please,” said the doctor. Draco drew a shaky breath and reached down to grab his cane. He felt Hermione’s soothing hand on his back as he made his way towards the sound of the doctor’s voice. Draco suddenly found himself wishing for more time. There would be no way to un-hear the verdict, no way to stop the small ounce of hope from being extinguished. Anxious as he was, Hermione had been right all those months ago: he was not a quitter.

Making his way into what felt like a modest office, he sat down on a bench with Hermione close to his side. He grabbed for her hand, ashamed of the way his was trembling. She made no mention of it; instead bringing her other hand over to rub reassuring circles on the back of his shaky hand.

There was no way to summarize the drastic turn their relationship had taken. Most days, he still didn’t believe this was real, that their journey from childhood enemies to co-workers to acquaintances to companions to lovers had actually happened. But at this moment, those doubts didn’t matter. What mattered was the obstacle directly in front of them.  Whatever the news was, they would face it side by side. Together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a story I originally posted on FF Net and then I took it down to rework it and never got around to posting the final chapters. The good news is that with the exception of some tweaking and small rewrites, the story is already complete! I'll try to post the subsequent chapters on at least a weekly basis. There was a ton of exposition in this, I know, but there will be much more story telling in the chapters to come.
> 
> This is my first ever fanfic I've written and I'd really love some feedback?? Draco/Hermione is the ship that first got me into fanfiction and I just couldn't leave this story in the void or sitting uselessly on my laptop. Comments would be so so appreciated.
> 
> One final note: I hope that the ableist language Draco is using in this first chapter does not offend anyone. It's FAR from being my personal views and I tried my best to make it clear that these are Draco's initial reactions and more a symptom of his own anxieties than anything else. If that's not clear please let me know and I will absolutely work on it.


	2. Chapter 2

**{November 23 rd, 2001}  **

Draco should have known better. He should have listened to his gut instead of daring to hope. He felt like a bloody idiot. He shouldn’t have been upset or surprised at today’s results. And yet, here he was, devastated.

Was it too much to ask to be able to see the face of the woman he loved? Merlin, how he wished it. He tried to bring up his memories but the images were fading. Her features were less defined, her shape blurred around the edges. It was a false figure, even when it had been fully formed. The face he imagined was never one he had looked at with affection. It was tainted from years of schoolboy bitterness and annoyance. Try as he might, he couldn’t get the image to fit with the woman he now knew.

What he saw was a tangled mess of hair, wildly out of control. What he felt were soft, inviting waves. It had become a habit, a comfort actually, to run his fingers through her hair as they sat side by side. She would pull out yet another DVD and he would complain about her horrid taste in stories, for that’s the only way he could explain them She’d get the telly set up and plop down next to him on the couch, where his fingers would inevitably find their way to her hair. Although he’d never seen a movie, he had to admit that it was the one muggle invention that fascinated him.

He used to make the house elves read him bedtime stories as a child but this was different. Marnie, his personal favorite, would attempt to give each character a different voice but it was nothing like these movies. Each character actually had a different person voicing them, with tones far more expressive than Marnie could have dreamed of. Combined with all kinds of sound effects and perfectly suited background music, Draco was sucked in every single time. Hermione had described watching a movie to be like looking through a pensieve, which Draco supposed made sense.

What he saw in his head was the face of a young girl, not stunning, but attractive at times. What he heard was the voice of a woman that he could never deserve. He heard her affection whenever she spoke of times they had shared together. He heard her frustration and grief when a treatment failed. He heard her nervousness when she spoke of the future, as if she was unsure he felt the same as she did.

Precious as those scattered old pictures now were, they didn’t seem like her. They weren’t the woman he’d come to know. They weren’t his Hermione. Yet, he clung to them. He meticulously tried to preserve them as best as he possibly could. He was terrified of waking up one day and no longer being able to bring her face to mind.

Fate had never been kind to Draco Malfoy, but this was perhaps its most ruthless trick. He’d long ago accepted that his life wasn’t fair. He had the scars and the vile tattoo to prove it. But to finally fall in love and be denied the pleasure of looking into her eyes… it was torture. That’s the reason he had dared to hope for good news today; desperation had driven him to grasp at any slight possibility.

Apparently it wasn’t meant to be.

That simple fact stung. Badly.

He knew that he had reached a crossroads today. This could not continue; he could not keep letting hope grow only to have it crushed further down with each attempt. He had never considered himself a particularly emotional creature, but this was wreaking havoc on him. He felt every ounce of the anguished journey and he simply could not take another step.

He would have to talk to her tomorrow, a conversation he was absolutely dreading. With her talks of perseverance and optimism, she would try to convince him otherwise. He’d mentioned it once or twice before. He always brought it up casually, in passing. She was frantic at the mere mention. It had taken Draco an hour to talk her down last time, to get her to stop the incessant rambling.

Her attempts at research had once seemed a frenzied attempt to fix a situation she had inadvertently created. Now, however, he sensed her reasoning had shifted. There was something in the meticulous approach she currently maintained, something that echoed with extra care. There was something that told Draco she continued because she loved him.

Hermione Granger loved Draco Malfoy and he loved her back. It was the unlikeliest of pairings, yet given the new direction their lives had taken, it made perfect sense. Logistically, at least. While so many other areas of Draco’s life had fallen apart, this had fallen into place.

The whole situation had snuck up on him, it really had.

**_{October 17 th, 2000}_ **

_There he was one day, sitting in bed, relaxing after a particularly long session with Mr. Belter. His fingers were exploring a new tool he’d been given to assist him in learning Braille. It was a set of 6 blocks, with each face of each block representing a different letter of the alphabet or a digit. For instance, he was starting at the beginning, with the block containing letters A-F. His index finger drifted to the Braille cell located in the bottom corner. It contained two dots diagonal from each other._

_He racked his brain, trying to remember which letter that represented. It was there, lingering just out of grasp like so many other pieces of his life. He gave up shortly and moved his finger to the center of the block, where the written letter was indented. He traced a long vertical line with three shorter horizontal lines sticking out to the right._

_“Of course,” he said aloud, sighing in frustration. He’d studied that sodding chart that Granger gave him for hours. He should have been able to recognize the letter E for Merlin’s sake._

_Speaking of Granger, were was she? She usually popped right through the door as soon Mr. Belter left at 3:00. She should be here. Then he could make snide remarks about how this was all her fault. Which wasn’t an entirely untruthful accusation. Honestly, who throws someone a list of letters and expects him to teach himself to read all over again?_

_She should be here. Then he could rant and rave all he liked. No matter what terrible things he said, she stayed. It was an odd thing to realize, that it didn’t matter whether he insulted her, complained about his situation, or was just plain miserable to be around; she wasn’t going to leave._

_Even stranger was the realization that he didn’t want her to._

Their relationship had just sort of developed from that moment on. He began noticing all these little things about her. Like how she wore shoes that, based on their consistent clacking across the hospital floor, were all exactly the same. Or how she stayed in a good mood for exactly three days after she found a breakthrough on her research. Or how she tried to sound casual while asking about his daily sessions with Mr. Belter, even though the slight nervous tremor in her voice always gave her away.

In particular, he noticed how genuinely excited she always sounded whenever he mentioned a new accomplishment. Though he was reluctant to admit it, those affirmations meant more to him than she could ever know. He’d felt immeasurably better since he’d begun trying to regain his independence. True, he was nowhere near where he wanted to be. And in the grand scheme of things, walking across a room without tripping over anything was a rather tiny accomplishment. But it meant a lot to him. And it certainly meant a lot more to know that she was proud of him.

Merlin, how long had it been since someone had been proud of him? There was an odd sense of confidence that accompanied it. He discovered that he wanted to push himself harder, not just for himself but for her. To prove to her that she hadn’t misplaced her faith in him.

He still remembered their first “date,” though it probably wasn’t one by most people’s standards. He’d been at St. Mungo’s for 5 months. He and Granger – well, Hermione, now; he still didn’t know when exactly that had happened – had been almost friendly towards each other for the past few days.

**_{November 5 th, 2000}_ **

_Draco sat in the stiff plastic chair and wiped his sweaty palms against his robes. He kept telling himself that there was no reason to be nervous. It was just Hermione, after all. They’d been around each other every day for the past five months. This was just the same as any other afternoon. Right?_

_The door to his room flew open. “Sorry I’m late. Crookshanks completely destroyed… what’s all this?” she asked._

_“I thought we could have tea today, if you’d like. I know you’ve probably missed it, what with being cooped up in this room every afternoon.” Draco tried to smile but it felt more like a grimace. This wasn’t exactly an area that he had expertise in._

_This was probably a stupid idea. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking when he asked Mr. Belter to help him arrange a proper tea set on a table in the middle of his room. At the time, it had made so much sense. It would be a nice little surprise for Hermione and he could show her that he was still capable of simple tasks like afternoon tea._

_But he was beginning to realize the situation for what it really was: a potential disaster. What if she took her tea earlier in the afternoon? What if he knocked over the centerpiece of cakes and pastries? What if he made a fool out of himself and spilled while he was trying to pour her tea?_

_This was definitely a stupid idea._

_“That’s a wonderful idea!” she exclaimed. The excitement in her voice permeated the room and helped to ease Draco’s nerves. Maybe this would be alright after all. He rose from his chair. Keeping one hand on the edge of the table, just as Mr. Belter had advised him, he walked to the opposite side of the table and pulled out Hermione’s chair.”Such a gentleman today,” she teased as he pushed her chair back in._

_“I’m always a gentleman,” he replied. “It’s just that I also happen to be an arse a good majority of the time.”_

_She laughed at that. Not a mild giggle or a forced chuckle. It was deep, from her gut, as if she hadn’t laughed in so long that all this energy had pent up inside of her. “Well, I’m afraid I can’t disagree with you there.”_

_“My, how kind of you,” he drawled. He cleared his throat and spoke again, “Can I serve you tea?”_

_“Sure,” she answered, clearly a little surprised._

_Keeping his hand down, he slid it along until he felt the teapot towards the center of the table. He picked it up by the handle and used his other hand to find Hermione’s teacup. Keeping his hand on the cup for reference, he began to pour very slowly. Choosing to err on the side of caution, he stopped when the teacup sounded about halfway full._

_“How do you take it?”_

_“A bit of cream and two lumps of sugar but you don’t need to –“_

_“No, I can do it,” he interrupted. He returned the teapot to its place it and once again felt along the table, this time searching for a small bowl. He found it and, with his other hand still on her teacup, he used the pinchers to locate two cubes of sugar and gently drop them in the cup. He’d made sure there was plenty of sugar in the bowl so he wouldn’t have to worry about trying to find the individual cubes._

_He located the cream in the same manner he’d been using and picked it up. “Just tell me when,” he told her, and begun to pour the cream into her teacup. She stopped him after about a second and a half. He returned the cream to the table and filed the information away for future reference._

_He walked back to his side of the table and listened to the sounds of her spoon gently clinking against the sides of her cup. He prepared his own tea in the same fashion, although opting to forego the cream._

_“Draco,” Hermione hedged. “I know you’re usually adverse to receiving compliments in regards to how you’re handling your condition but you’re just going to have to hear me out on this one. You served afternoon tea – and a damn good cup of it, if I might add – as if you’ve been doing it this way your whole life. There was no hesitation and no mistakes; you seem perfectly at ease. And I just wanted to say that I’m impressed.”_

_“Merlin, woman, it’s only tea,” he muttered, slightly embarrassed. Truth be told though, he couldn’t have been more glad to hear those words. He’d managed to convince Mr. Belter to spend nearly an entire day on helping him in this area and it was a relief to know his practice hadn’t been wasted. “I just figured that you deserved something for being stuck here with me every day.”_

_It was silent for a moment before she spoke. “Honestly? There isn’t any place else I’d rather be.”_

Draco shook his head, smirking at the memory. Nine words. That was all it had taken to stir up feelings that he’d long ago forgot he was capable of.

He doubted, though. He didn’t doubt her forgiveness for his schoolboy transgressions, which was finally granted after a few weeks of stuttered apologies. He didn’t doubt her dedication; Hermione gave those sodding Hufflepuffs a run for their money in the loyalty department. He didn’t even doubt her affection. She must have cared for him or else she would have quit long ago. Anyone else in their right mind would have. Love however…

It’s not that she’d ever given him a specific reason to doubt. Through all the fights and the arguments, there was never anything he could pinpoint to prove his suspicions. But how could she love him? He was a wreck, a shadow of the man she deserved.

It was a constant war deep within him: the gnawing notion that he wasn’t good enough combating years of ingrained Malfoy superiority. He had been raised to believe that he was superior, but how could he ever be worthy of anyone’s love? The cruel words he’d spoken, the acts he’d committed: they were enough to send most people running. Combine that with the guilt that constantly plagued him and the voice that told him he could never erase what his family had done. And oh yes, let’s not forget his disability.

He could take care of himself, sure. He’d lived on his own, with a house elf, naturally, for 3 months and it was going fairly well all things considered. Leaving the Manor had been one of the best decisions he’d ever made. It brought back another slice of his independence that he’d been longing for so badly. He’d had enough of his mother babying him. He knew she was just trying to care for her son but it felt like she had no faith in him. It was as if she tried to do everything because she no longer thought that he could.

The battle for self-reliance had been a grueling endeavor and while he still didn’t feel that he’d won, he finally felt like a contender. He’d learned to get around his flat and maneuver the outside world. While it wasn’t necessarily as easy as it had been before, he could still get where he needed unassisted. He used his cane to ensure that no objects were blocking his path and to determine if he was approaching stairs or a curb. He also relied on other subtle clues from his environment: the sound of a closed door helped orient him while the direction of a breeze helped him determine the size and arrangement of an open area. It wasn’t often that he ventured new places alone, mainly because there was no need, but the fact remained that he could handle himself if he needed to.

As far as shopping was concerned, he went as much as he always had: as little as necessary. While he prided himself on looking put-together, he had never been able to stomach shopping for very long. Plus, he had always worn the same style of robes and found no reason to change that habit now. Occasionally he would wander into a clothing store to have the tailor check his measurements, but mainly he just ordered the items he needed by owl. Since he’d always worn dark colors, he didn’t need to worry about clashing or picking some bright horrid monstrosity.

Each new addition to his wardrobe was immediately labeled in Braille and placed in his closet. If he ordered more than one item at a time, he enlisted Hermione’s organizational prowess but he usually accomplished the task on his own.

Every day, he woke up, showered, got dressed, fixed his hair, ate breakfast, and left for work, just like he always used to. Only instead of waking up because the sun was flooding his room, he placed a charm on his Braille watch to announce the time he needed to get up. Rather than fixing his hair in the mirror, he relied on his sense of touch: patting down any unruly hairs, judging if the right amount of gel was in his palm, feeling his hair to picture how it looked that day. His faithful house elf, Marnie, placed breakfast on his table at 7:30 each morning.

He made coffee using the muggle machine that Hermione had bought for him and sat down to eat, imagining his plate as a large clock. It was a technique he had learned from Mr. Belter. 12 o’clock was the point on the plate farthest away while 6 o’clock was the point closer to him. It was a rather efficient way to maneuver the adventure of eating in the dark. He’d become accustomed to it quite quickly and was able to avoid any spills or embarrassments that may have occurred from him trying to eat as he would have years ago.

He used the floo network to travel to the ministry, where he once again worked in the auror department. Their special segment had since been shut down but when Draco expressed interest in going back to work, the Ministry had assured him that he had a job waiting for him. He mainly stayed in the office, helping strategize various missions or researching potential threats. It had taken a great deal of hard work, but he had now convinced his co-workers to treat him as a colleague rather than the Ministry’s new charity case. His talent spoke for itself and while he certainly hadn’t won everyone over, he’d been able to gain a satisfactory amount of respect.

At his cubicle as well as at home, he was religiously organized. Each item had a specific place and as long as it was returned, he never had a problem finding anything. Different difficulties presented themselves everyday but he took those in stride.

What he missed were facets of his old life, areas he’d never truly valued until they were gone.

He missed seeing people’s expressions when they spoke and reading their body language. He could fill in some of the gap from their tone of voice but he never really knew if he was interpreting reactions and conversations correctly.

He missed scenery and landscape. His childhood holidays had been spent abroad: Greece, Italy, Prague, Paris, Ireland. Locations with sights that took your breath away, sights that he had glanced over without truly seeing.

He missed knowing when someone was going to touch him. It sounded like such a simple thing, yet it was enough to drive him mad. A light touch on the shoulder or a brush of a hand caused him to jump. It was like having someone sneak up on you multiple times a day. He’d thought he would get used to it but he still hadn’t. He could hear people approaching but anticipating their actions was nearly impossible. He tried to control his flinching, tried to subdue the rapid increase of his heartbeat. It was useless.

A piercing chime drew Draco out of his reflections. He was confused by the announcement of someone coming through the floo; he hadn’t been expecting anyone today.

“Draco?” Hermione’s voice rang through his flat.

“I’m in the kitchen,” he yelled in response. Strange; she usually left him alone on results days. It was a routine they had worked out long ago. He might have once been aggravated by the break in structure, but today he welcomed the surprise.

“I brought over some ice cream,” she said as she walked into the kitchen, bending down to place a quick kiss on Draco’s lips. “I noticed you were out when I was over yesterday and I figured you might enjoy some tonight.” Her pitch was a little too high; he could feel the anxiousness coming off her in waves.

“Thank you. Could you place it on the –“

“Third shelf to the left of the freezer. I know, Draco.” The freezer door creaked open and shut before she pulled out a chair, sitting down at the table next to him. Draco smiled at that; she knew him so well, knew every aspect of his life.

“I’m glad you came over, love. I, um, I wanted to talk to you about something,” he said placing his open hand upturned on the kitchen table. Another routine, it was his way of asking her to hold his hand. It helped him avoid the unnecessary and embarrassing groping that used to happen while he was searching for her hand. She took it without hesitating, encouraging him to continue. Taking a deep breath, Draco continued, “I’m not going to try any more treatments or methods. We’ve been doing this for a year and a half and I think it’s time that we put it to rest.”

“That’s crazy. I know today might have seemed like a setback but it wasn’t a total loss. Plus there are a hundred books I’ve yet to read and loads more brainstorming to do. There’s a healer in Russia who has been experimenting with –“

“No, Hermione, stop. I’ve given this a lot of thought; the plan was to tell you tomorrow. It’s just that I can’t… I can’t continue allowing my emotions to be yanked up and down like a yo-yo. It’s been keeping me from doing the one thing I’ve needed to do for the past eighteen months: accept. Accept the fact my sight won’t be returning, at least not in the near future. I think I’ve been using these possibilities of a cure to put it off all this time. I need to face it; I need to be able to move on.”

“You’re giving up! Look I know it’s been hard for you but we get closer with each rejection. We’re ages away from the list of options we started out with. We’ve narrowed down the prospects considerably since our first attempt. You can’t give up when we’re so close!”

“But that’s just it: it’s taken us a year and a half to get this far. Who knows how long it will take to find a real cure? Or if it’s even possible to find one? I just… I can’t do it anymore. I’m so tired.” He turned towards her and tightened his grasp on her hand.

“I know. I know you are but we’re going to find it. We are. I promise I will get your sight back, I won’t fail you. Let’s just keep at it a little longer. Please.” Her voice cracked on the last word.

Draco’s brow creased at her words. “Fail me? You didn’t fail me. You’ve done far more than I ever could have asked for. What you’ve accomplished in the last several months has been incredible. You’ve made tremendous research advancements in numerous medical fields, all while being an auror for Merlin’s sake! I’m not telling you that you have to quit everything you’ve been working on. I know better than to try banning you from the library. I just think you should slow down a little. We both need a break, a new chapter.” Hearing the sharp intake of breath, Draco reached up to wipe away the tears that he knew had started to make their way down Hermione’s face. He pulled her closer, allowing her to bury her face in his chest. Her muffled sobs filled the kitchen and each one wounded him.

“I j-just want to h-h-help you. I need to help. It’s not f-fair.” Hermione struggled to get her words out and returned to Draco’s chest.

“No, you’re right, it isn’t. I’m not saying it’s easy for me. It’s bloody difficult at times. You don’t know how badly I wish I could see your face.” At this, her sobs increased their tempo and her body shook against his. He pulled back and used his hand to lift her chin. ”Can I,” he paused, trying to summon the courage to continue. “Can I try something?”

Hermione nodded slowly. Draco hesitated, unsure if this was a good idea. It was something he’d never tried before and he was vaguely… self-conscious. He and Hermione had been together for 11 months and he felt more comfortable around her than he’d ever felt before.

Malfoy Manor wasn’t exactly a warm house to grow up in; there was always a certain etiquette to be followed, even around his mother. His friends had all been closer to acquaintances, mainly based on mutual gain. Pure bloods weren’t exactly known for their close friendships.

He’d never been able to truly relax. There were so many walls he’d carefully constructed over the course of his childhood. There were obligations and standards that he was required to live up to. Acting vulnerable was practically forbidden. It meant being punished by his father or being taken advantage of by his so-called friends. It meant being weak.

Draco Malfoy was not weak.

But more to the point, he’d never had anyone in his life, aside from his parents, that he knew wouldn’t leave.  And then Hermione had come along and she’d stayed. Through all his snide remarks, through all his displays of self-doubt, through all his obvious shortcomings, Hermione had stayed. He hadn’t realized how desperately he needed that.

So here he was, sitting in front of her, once again laying aside everything he knew. Using both hands, he traced her face with his thumbs. He felt the smooth plate of her forehead, the slight bump on her nose, the defined cheekbones that were still drenched with tears. He pictured her face while doing so and was relieved to find it brought some clarity back to the image.

He’d been nervous to try this but he certainly didn’t regret it. He and Hermione had certainly been intimate in other ways but this was on an entirely different plane. This felt more… tender. He was looking at her, on his own terms, in the only way he knew how.

He slowly leaned his forehead forward to rest against hers. The crying had subdued at some point and her breathing was returning to normal. “Okay,” she whispered. It was all she trusted herself to say.

“Thank you,” Draco whispered back. He lifted her chin once more, this time leaning in for a kiss. He let go of everything and allowed himself to just exist in the moment, to cherish the way her soft lips molded seamlessly to his. He relished the scent of jasmine from her perfume and the musty smell of the old books she spent hours poring over.

He didn’t know what the future held. He didn’t even know if he had a shot at a future with her, let alone if he deserved her. All he knew was that right now, at this moment, he had everything he needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, as promised! This one had a LOT of angst; I know, I’m sorry. The next chapter features a time jump and some significantly happier material. We get to see what their relationship is like when they’re not quite so burdened and stressed. Thanks for being wonderful readers and as always, feedback is really appreciated!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Christmas present to you: an early update!
> 
> I'm taking an unexpected trip out of town next week and I don't think I'll be able to update so I figured I'd edit this chapter early and get it out to you guys.

**{March 26 th, 2002}**

Draco stepped out of the fireplace and shook himself off. He brushed his shoulders until he could no longer feel remnants of floo powder on his robes.

“Perfect timing,” announced Hermione, accompanied by the sound of a book slamming shut.

“I’m sorry if you’ve been waiting. I would have been here sooner but I had a few things to wrap up at the office.” He said, stepping further into Hermione’s flat.

“It’s your big night; you’re allowed to be as late as you want.” Her heels clacked across the floor as she moved towards Draco. She laid her hand lightly on his arm and kissed his cheek.

He snaked his hands around her waist and smirked. “I hardly think a gala honoring the entire Auror department qualifies as my big night.”

“A gala that never would have been possible without your help,” replied Hermione, smacking him on the arm. “You’ve been instrumental in finding and capturing the ministry’s most elusive suspects. I never knew Draco Malfoy to be so modest.”

“Yes well there’s a first time for everything I suppose. Please feel free to go on boasting about my many accomplishments though. Apparently I’m allowed to be as late as I like.”

Hermione brought his hand to her face, giving him the chance to feel the wry smirk that had crept onto it. “There you are. I was beginning to fear someone was fooling me with Polyjuice potion.”

“Never fear, love. You are standing in the presence of the one and only Draco Malfoy. Besides, I refuse to believe you’d fall for any weak imitations.”

“And why would I when the real one is so unbelievably charming? I doubt anyone else could even pretend to have such an inflated ego.”

“Oh stop, you’re going to make me blush,” he replied, bringing his lips down to hers.  He allowed himself to linger for only a few moments before pulling back. Stroking her hair, he spoke again, “We really ought to leave though. Weaselbee has probably already devoured all the hors d'oeuvres and I’m sure there’s at least one person we need to save from Scarhead’s awful stories.”

His statement was met with another slap to the arm, this one a tad more forceful. “You promised to make more of an effort with Harry and Ron! They’re not going anywhere so you might as well get used to them.”

“Hermione, we’ve been together for over a year now. And in that time, can you count one instance when I so much as made a derogatory comment to their faces?”

“... no,” she reluctantly admitted.

“And do you realize how many opportunities they’ve given me? You really underestimate my self-restraint.”

She let out a huff of air and he just knew she was rolling her eyes. Truth be told, he was rather pleased with his ability to still get under her skin after all these years.

“Listen, I would just appreciate it if you actually tried to get along with them. The war is long over and I know they don’t hold your actions at Hogwarts against you, for the most part anyway. So I really don’t see any reason why you can’t just make an effort to hold a conversation for longer than two minutes.”

 “We’re never going to be best mates or call each other up for tea and crumpets but I _suppose_ I could try to pretend that the annoying 2/3 of the Golden Trio aren’t as obnoxious as they used to be.” If he was being completely honest, he would have admitted that he really didn’t mind her best friends. They were a bit dull at times but Draco really didn’t have any other problems with them. Still, he meant what he said: he would never be close to Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. Too much had happened. Time didn’t always heal every scar.

“Not quite what I was looking for but I’ll take it!” She exclaimed, oblivious to his internal musings and clearly pleased at her victory. “Now let’s go, before Ronald really does eat all the hors d'oeuvres. Ministry parties always have the best food.”

“That’s because they have the very best house elves in their kitchens”, remarked Draco. He unsuccessfully tried to hold back an impish grin.

“Do you really want to pick two fights in the same night?” she challenged.

“I’d hardly call this fighting, love. Although, I can think of a much better way to let out some aggression.” He pulled her close once again and leaned his lips down to her jaw, trailing slowly down to her collarbone. One hand stayed wrapped around her waist and the other caressed her hair, careful to avoid destroying the intricate arrangement it had been pinned into.

She responded with a low, nearly silent, moan. She tilted his chin back up a little, bringing her lips to meet his. She pulled back far enough to break the kiss but close enough for him to still feel the mischievous smile that slowly spread across her face.

She whispered, “Then I’m sure you’ll have plenty stored up after spending all evening with Harry and Ron.”

“Irritation and aggression are two vastly different emotions. Plus, I’m fairly positive that you just hit on the ultimate buzzkill. I don’t think I have it in me to compensate for that level of irritation.”

“I’m sure you’ll be able to think of something,” Hermione responded wryly. “Now quit distracting me and get your arse back into that fireplace!”

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sounds of another bustling Ministry event flooded Draco’s ears the instant he landed in the fireplace. He quickly stepped out, allowing room for Hermione, and systematically dusted off his dress robes. He also applied a mild _Scourgify_ , just for good measure.

Hermione appeared beside him with a whoosh and let out a small gasp.

“Oh Draco, it’s beautiful. I keep thinking I’ll get used to magical decorations but...” she paused.

He reached out for her hand and she grabbed it without hesitation. “Don’t tell anyone,” he said, “But they never failed to amaze me either. I used to sneak downstairs when my parents hosted parties at the Manor just to watch the indoor fireworks and sparks falling from the ceiling.

“Keep that to yourself though.” He cleared his throat and straightened his robes again. “I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Yes, yes, you’re a pureblood whose family hasn’t been amazed by magic for centuries and you’re not fascinated like some clueless muggle. I know the drill.”

“Good. I couldn’t have you thinking you’ve actually rubbed off on me.” He removed his cane from inside an inside pocket of his robes and returned it to its normal size. He then offered Hermione his elbow, which she hooked her arm through. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Oh, please. I know you enjoy these Ministry parties far more than you let on,” Hermione said as they moved towards the ballroom, her heels clicking nearly in time with the tapping of Draco’s cane.

Surprisingly, he did. It was a bit of a revelation, and an odd one at that. It wasn’t so long ago that he would have hated the entire idea of tonight. The crowd of people, the high-profile setting, the focus directed at him. He wouldn’t have even entertained the idea.

Hermione knew that better than anyone. She had spent weeks trying to drag him out of the Manor after he left St. Mungo’s. He remembered one afternoon in particular. Hermione had made a habit of coming over after work and staying late into the night.

**_{May 4 th, 2001}_ **

  _“I need to stop by Diagon Alley to run a couple errands this afternoon. Do you want to come? I was thinking we could grab a sundae from Fortescue's after. I haven’t had one in years. Doesn’t that sound great?” asked Hermione after she greeted him with a kiss._

_“No, I’m fine. Mother was there last week so it’s not like I need anything.” He picked up the Daily Prophet from the desk he was sitting at and ran his fingers over the page. Hermione’s discovery on translating texts into Braille had been a lifesaver and the only way that he was truly able to keep up on current events in the wizarding world. The gossip that his mother brought home from her weekly luncheons certainly did not qualify in that regard._

_“Well how about you just come with me instead?  It really shouldn’t take that long and I think it would be fun. We’ll pop into a couple of shops and then sit down and relax. Come on, I know the mint and chip there is your favorite.” She dragged out the last sentence, teasing him with the prospect of sweets._

_“No offense, love, but have you ever known me to enjoy shopping? Just bring back a couple cones and we’ll pop in one of those… movies? That’s what they’re called, right?”_

_“Yes, Draco, that’s what they’re called but I’m asking you to come with me. Please? You’re the one who kept talking about how you couldn’t wait to get out of St. Mungo’s and go on a real date. Well here’s a perfect opportunity!” She was really pushing this whole shopping excursion and he couldn’t figure out why. He did feel a little guilty, though, when she brought up the proper date that they’d yet to have._

_“I know and I still want that. We can go have a picnic in the ruins at Rome or something. I’m really not trying to be rude but I just don’t feel like going out today, alright?” The words came out a bit harsher than he’d intended. He was irritated but he hadn’t meant to take it out on her._

_Hermione sighed and stayed quiet for a few moments. “Draco,” she started, trepidation evident in her tone. “It’s been three weeks since you moved back to The Manor and you haven’t left once. You can’t live your life inside these walls.”_

_“Look, I just… I’m not… I might not have much of a reputation left after the war but I do still have one. I’m not about to wander out and give people the satisfaction of seeing me try to navigate a street as crowded as Diagon Alley. I know the whole story about the accident was published in the Daily Prophet but I just thought…” He trailed off, hand dangling in mid-air as he tried to find the words to express what he was feeling. He’d begun to pace at some point and he was a tad disoriented now. He reached his hand out and found that he had ended up back in front of the desk._

_“You thought that if people didn’t see you, they’d forget,” she said._

_Draco simply nodded, burying his head in his hands and collapsing back into the chair he’d been sitting in before Hermione’s arrival. Hermione walked over and laid her hands on his, removing them from his face._

_“Listen to me. You cannot stay cooped up in The Manor for the rest of your life. I won’t let you. I know that it might be hard on you but you have to face it at some point. You’ve worked so hard these past few months and that’s what’s going to show. “_

_“You don’t get it!” he shouted and stood, unable to control the turn his temper had taken. “Nobody is going to treat me the same! Nobody is going to think of me the same. I’ve already experienced it: from my own mother, from Blaise, from Scarhead and the Weasel, and even from you! Do you really think they’re going to remember all the improvements I made to the Auror program or the number of Death Eaters that I helped bring to justice? No. They’re going to fixate on my sunglasses and my cane and the fact that I’m not looking directly into their bloody faces. **Everyone** will treat me differently.” He remained standing, his chest heaving up and down with effort. _

_“You’re right,” answered Hermione quietly. He twisted his head to look at her, a look of incredulity crossing his features. “People will treat you differently. And I won’t pretend to know exactly what you’re going through, because I don’t. But, Draco, this is something you’re going to have to accept. As you have pointed out on countless occasions, those in the magical world are not used to dealing with blind wizards. They’re going to be curious and that’s not really something you can blame them for.”_

_“Curiosity is one thing. I get it. But I’m not going to parade myself around so people can gossip and stare at me as if I’m some sort of freak! Or gloat because they think this is perfect payback for being a Death Eater.”_

_Hermione took a couple deep breaths before responding. She laced his fingers through hers and rested her forehead against his. “First of all, you are **not** a freak. And if anyone is honestly holding a grudge after all the time you’ve spent on the Auror department, that’s their problem; not yours. If you’re not ready to face Diagon Alley today then that’s okay, I get it, but you can’t stay in this state of mind. This isn’t your fault and quite frankly, there isn’t anything you can do about it. You have no reason to hide yourself away from the entire wizarding population.”_

_“I just… I don’t think I can do it,” Draco quietly admitted. “The inane questions, the timid voices, the insinuations that I’m no longer ‘worthy.’ I am a Malfoy, for Merlin’s sake. People used to stare at me with respect, appreciation, fear, even. I don’t need my sight to know that people will either be gawking or watching me with pity. I don’t want their pity! I can bloody well take of myself. I’ve proven that, haven’t I? I’m not some pathetic child that they need to feel concern for.”_

_“You’ve proven that and so much more over the past few months. Most of the wizards we know, particularly the purebloods, would never have worked like you did to get your independence back. Give them time. Everyone will realize that, eventually, but you must give them the opportunity to see it. If they spent as much as five minutes with you, I doubt anyone would deign to say that you’re inadequate. It just might take a while for everyone to get caught up.” Her response was firm, leaving no room for debate._

_“Then in the meantime, what’s wrong with spending some time out of the public eye?” he asked._

_“I’m not telling you to do anything or go anywhere that you don’t want to go. But if you’re avoiding public places just because you’re afraid of people treating you differently, well then damn it you’re just going to have to get over it. They’re going to stare and they’re going to talk; you just have to give them a reason to say something positive.”_

That afternoon had been the push he needed. He hadn’t integrated back into society quite as easily as Hermione had anticipated, but he had done it nonetheless. And whenever he had a bad day, which happened more often than he’d like, Hermione was there just as she was now. He knew that she would much rather have spent the evening camped out with a cup of tea and her latest novel but instead she’d acted as if there was nowhere else she’d rather be.

“Help me see it,” he asked, falling back on a tradition they’d started long ago.

“Well they’ve picked out a champagne color scheme. Oh, sorry, erm that’s a muggle alcoholic drink. Picture an off-white cream color, only slightly more golden. The tablecloths and place settings are all subtly different shades, just enough to make them distinct, and everyone is carrying glasses with the same color swirling across the surface.

“The ceiling is enchanted to look like the night sky, not quite as magnificent as the great hall at Hogwarts but beautiful nonetheless. The sky is clear with millions of stars: some larger than others, some sparkling, and some shooting across the length of the ceiling, showering down an array of sparks.

“The bar is directly to our left and the stage is on the far side of the room. It looks like our table is fairly close to it. Would you like to go there first?”

“Actually, I have a question I need to ask Finnegan. I forgot in my rush to leave the office this afternoon. Would you point me in his direction?”

“Seamus? I hadn’t realized he was working in the Auror department. I’ll come with you. I’d like to say hi; I haven’t seen him in over a year.”

“How coincidental, neither have I,” he smirked, slightly proud at his joke. Hermione responded by smacking his chest and he pictured her scrunching her lips together in mock disdain. Merlin, he was lucky he didn’t inherit his mother’s tendency towards easy bruising.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

Draco walked over and sat down on the couch that Hermione had flopped, rather unceremoniously, onto a few seconds earlier. Pulling both of their shoes off, he placed them beside the couch, where he’d be sure to find them in the morning. He chuckled as Hermione shifted and groaned beside him.

“I’m so tired.”

“I think you’re a bit more than tired, love. You and Ginny were having quite a competition with that Firewhiskey. The bottle was nearly empty when I picked it up.”

“It’s not my fault!” she exclaimed. “Ginny said- she said I was more of a hermit now than I was at Hogwarts and she just kept sliding that bottle closer and closer.”

Draco bit back a laugh and tried to nod sympathetically. “Yes, well you definitely proved her wrong.”

“I never want another glass of it again. I don’t- I don’t even like that stuff!”

“I know, that’s what you said every time before you took another shot,” he smirked.

“Ughhh. Gods I must have made a fool of myself. I need to go home, sleep it off.” She moved to get off the couch and Draco reached out, instinctively catching her arm just before she stood up.

“Oh no you don’t. You’re slurring too much to use the floo and I’m certainly not letting you apparate in this condition. Stay here tonight.”

“Okay, good night.” She lay her head down on the opposite end of the couch and curled her feet up into Draco’s lap.

He let out a small laugh and said, “If you sleep here, you’ll feel ten times worse in the morning. Come on let’s get you to bed. You can wear those, um, sweater pants? I think that’s what they’re called, those pajamas you got me for Christmas.”

“SWEAT pants,” she giggled. He helped her to her feet and escorted her down the hall to his bedroom. She plopped down onto the bed as he moved to his dresser. He opened the third drawer down, reached towards the second pile from the left, and grabbed the first item. He then opened the second drawer and ran his fingers over the shirts inside. He picked up the most comfortable one and brought both items over to Hermione.

“I’ll go put on my pajamas in the bathroom and you can change out here, ok? Just let me know when you’re done.” He grabbed the pajamas that his house elf, Marnie, had left on the corner of his dresser and walked five steps forward, three steps to the left, and turned right to enter the bathroom connected to his bedroom.

He changed and brushed his teeth, giving Hermione a little extra time. He knew that there was technically no reason to leave her alone while she undressed. It’s not like he could sneak a glance at her anyway. But he wanted to respect her privacy.

Malfoys were always raised to be gentleman, no matter how nefarious their career aspirations turned out to be. Draco supposed that at some point between his mother’s constant reminders and lecturing, the idea, no matter how old fashioned, must have stuck.

He knocked on the door and called out, asking if she was finished. Getting no response, he opened the door and walked back around the front of his bed. The slight snoring coming from the left side of the bed told him that she was already fast asleep and the dress lying on the floor and lack of pajamas on the bed indicated that she’d managed to change before she passed out. Apparently she hadn’t made it under the covers though.

He gently pulled the blankets out from beneath her and pulled them up to cover her. He then walked back to the other side of the bed and crawled in, removing his sunglasses and placing them on the nightstand. His movements must have woken Hermione, because she rolled over to face him and laid her hand across his cheek.

“I love your eyes,” she murmured sleepily. “I love getting to see them. That piercing gray always stood out, even at Hogwarts. I wish you wouldn’t hide them.”

Before Draco could respond, the snoring returned. He smiled to himself and clicked off the muggle lamp. Surprise, surprise, he’d gotten it at Hermione’s insistence. He couldn’t deny how helpful it was to have a tactile indication that the lights were indeed off. He lay down against his pillow, recalling the first time he heard her talk about his eyes

**_{August 1 st, 2000} _ **

_Draco leaned back against the headrest. He removed his sunglasses and placed them on his bedside table. Sighing, he massaged his temples. He’d been wearing those blasted things for nearly twelve hours today. Most of the time he completely forgot he had them on, but they’d been rather bothersome today for some unknown reason._

_Not that it really mattered. Hermione had left for the evening and Mr. Belter wouldn’t arrive until 9 the next morning. Nurses would come and go in-between but there wasn’t truly much point in trying to hide his sightless eyes from them. The doctors and nurses had run test after test on his eyes after he was first admitted to St. Mungo’s, not to mention it was usually a nurse who woke him up in the morning. His eyes instinctively opened whenever he awoke, even if the act was rather pointless now._

_The door creaked open, the sound grating on Draco’s ears. He was in a magical hospital for Merlin’s sake and nobody could figure out how to fix a door hinge? He’d have to ask someone to place a_ silencio _on it tomorrow._

_“Isn’t it a little early for my thrilling evening potion routine?” he drawled, turning his head towards the door._

_“It’s… It’s just me,” said a familiar voice. “I got home and realized I left my journal.”_

_Draco’s eyes immediately clenched shut and his arm flew to the nightstand. His fingers brushed past the glasses and a split second later, he heard them crash to the floor. “Damn it!” he hissed under his breath._

_She wasn’t supposed to be here. He was supposed to be left alone for the rest of the night. He never would have taken off the sunglasses if he’d known she was coming back._

_He felt vulnerable, exposed._

_It wasn’t fair. This was exactly what he’d wanted to avoid. She wasn’t supposed to see his blank eyes, unable to focus on her. He must have looked so stupid._

_“It’s okay,” Hermione said, this time much quieter. “I know you think you have to wear those but I like how you look without them. You look like the Draco Malfoy I’ve known for the past nine years.”_

_He heard metal briefly scrape the tile and wondered if she was wearing jewelry. He frowned. She’d never really worn jewelry to Hogwarts or at work, at least that he’d noticed. The idea of a bracelet or a few rings bothered him; it didn’t fit with the image he had of her. It was what he’d assumed she had continued to look like. He didn’t like that she could be transforming right in front of him without him ever knowing.  It wasn’t right that she got to change while the Hermione in his head would always stay the same._

_“Yeah well, he’s not really around anymore, is he?” he replied bitterly. Wasn’t he allowed to keep even one ounce of his dignity?_

_“Oh I don’t know about that. I remember him being a rather large git so I think you two might have more in common than you think.” He could practically hear her smirking. In response, he shook his head in exasperation. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”_

_Draco found that he was unable contain the small grin that crept onto his face._

He wondered if she even remembered that day, if she had any idea how deeply it had affected him. It was one of the first moments since he’d lost his sight that he felt adequate. Enough.

It had been so confusing at the time.

There he was, Draco Malfoy, lower than he ever imagined he would be. The war had already stripped him of his respected reputation and his lack of contributions to Voldemort’s side in the final days of the war had cost him most of his friends, if they could really be called that. In retrospect, he realized that actual friends might have at least made the effort to stick around.

Then, the accident happened. He remembered thinking just how cruel the whole ordeal was. Hadn’t he already suffered enough tragic turns of fate for one lifetime?

And there she was, Hermione Granger, with the wizarding world practically falling at her feet. She’d received more honors than he could keep track of and everyone loved her. She had emerged from the war stronger than ever, her best friends still in tow and her family happy and healthy.

She could have done anything, gone anywhere, and yet she chose to spend her afternoons in a dreary hospital room with someone who had tormented her for her entire childhood.

Hermione was supposed to be the rational one but he couldn’t see any sense in the arrangement.

It had angered him at first, actually. Of course St. Granger would come to take pity on the poor pathetic patient.

He had expected so much from her. But he hadn’t expected her unsolicited kindness. He wasn’t used to it. He’d had so few interactions with people who didn’t want something from him in return.

Hermione stirred again, pulling him from his musings. She flipped onto her side, facing away from him, and he pulled her close. He ran his left hand up and down the length of her thigh before securing his arm around her stomach. Kissing the top of her head, he settled into his pillow and smiled as Hermione sighed in contentment.

He spent the hazy moments between consciousness and sleep picturing the way her hair would fall across his pillows and the way she would look in his favorite t-shirt.

\---------------------------------------------

Draco awoke the next morning to warm sunshine on his face. He savored the sensation before the realization set in that the room must be flooded with light. She’d probably wake up squinting at any moment. He hadn’t thought to close the blinds before falling asleep last night. He went to grab his wand before remembering that he left it in the living room last night when he helped Hermione to his bedroom.

It was a really stupid move but he couldn’t bring himself to care at the moment. Not when Hermione’s head was lying on his chest and her arm was draped across him. Clearly the sunlight wasn’t bothering her as he’d feared.

He lifted his hand up and drew lazy circles on her back, trying to soak everything in. He wanted to always remember her warm body pressed against his and the way he could feel her breath through his shirt. He wanted to remember the way her hair smelled like coconut, probably due to some new product she’d used for the gala.

Even the silence, which was usually overwhelming when he was alone, seemed a fitting soundtrack to the morning. He wanted to wake up like this every day.

He chuckled slightly as he wondered when exactly he had turned into a total sap. He’d have to go duel with Blaise or something later.

 His movements apparently nudged Hermione awake because she stretched and picked her head up from Draco’s chest. She groaned and immediately lay back down.

“My head is absolutely throbbing,” she said, her voice scratchy and groggy.

“Well you did drink about half a bottle of Firewhiskey last night. That would be enough to leave anyone with a nasty hangover.”

“Ugh. Please don’t say the word Firewhiskey. I don’t even- “

“Like that stuff,” he interrupted. “Believe me, I know.”

“Merlin, do I even want to know how I was acting last night?”

“All things considered, it wasn’t really that bad. Although, you kept mimicking poor Finnegan’s tendency towards unintentional pyrotechnics.”

“The first time I see the guy in a year and I spend the night insulting him. I was right, I don’t want to know. Can we just stay in bed for a little while longer?” She re-adjusted and shifted her body a little closer to Draco’s.

“It’s Saturday, love. We can stay in bed for as long as you like,” he said, resuming the circles he had been drawing on Hermione’s back.

“Good. Because I’m trying to make a memory,” she said, smiling against his chest.

“Oh?”

“Yes. Despite the drum solo echoing through my head, this is one of the nicest mornings I’ve ever had. I want to remember it.”

“Help me see it,” he asked.

“Well, to start with, you’ve got this really great bed-head thing going on.”

His hand flew to his hair and Hermione burst out in laughter.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. It’s a little ruffled but I like it. Very devil-may-care. But hair aside, the sunlight is filtering in through your windows. If I lift my head to look out of it, I can see the street and the park below. They’re covered in a thin layer of snow. Not so much that everything is wiped out by a blanket of white, but just enough that there is a bit of sparkle to the whole scene.

“Your room is very organized, with the exception of my dress sprawled across the floor. Sorry about that, by the way. Your sunglasses are, thankfully, sitting on your nightstand, giving me the chance to stare into your eyes as much as I like.

“Judging by the feel of it, my own hair is much worse than yours. It seems to have expanded during the night and I’m sure that all the hairspray and taming charms that I applied last night have completely worn off. I wore make-up instead of a glamour charm last night so my mascara is more than likely smudged in a thick line under my eyes.

“Wow, I’m scaring myself a bit. I think that’s probably all you need to see of me this morning.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing. I think you have an unfairly biased opinion. I wish I could see to tell you just how wrong you are.” She began to protest but he continued before she could. “Thank you for showing me though. Do you remember the first time I asked you to do that?”

“Of course I do. It was the day you left St. Mungo’s. The first place you wanted to go was Greece. We went straight there and the side-along apparatition made you disoriented and sick to your stomach. So instead of going to your favorite childhood restaurant, I found the closest dock.”

“And we took off our shoes and put our feet in the ocean and I asked you to help me see the sunset. You used so many details that I felt like I really was looking at the rose gold rays falling on the white houses facing the ocean.  I don’t think you knew how important that was to me,” he told her.

“Well, I wanted you to experience it the same way that I did. Just because you can’t see those images with your eyes, doesn’t mean you can’t see them through mine.”

She rose off of his chest and kissed him before crawling over him and hopping off the bed. She grabbed his hand and pulled him up with her.

“Where are we going?”

“To the kitchen. You’re going to make me breakfast,” she announced.

“Oh really? And why is that?”

“Because I’m the one with the debilitating hangover and you’re supposed to be playing the role of the doting boyfriend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Voila! As promised, some happier moments for Draco & Hermione. They've certainly earned it. And of course, a small healthy dose of angst cuz like hello it's still me.
> 
> Thank you for the continued feedback!! Each comment and kudos really does warm my heart. Merry Christmas my friends!


	4. Chapter 4

**{June 4 th, 2002}**

The weeks passed quickly after the Auror gala. Hermione’s uncharacteristic evening had been everyone’s favorite topic the following Monday, with exaggerated retellings and, he’d been told, some rather absurd re-enactments. Still, none of it had been too cruel. Draco never would have let it escalate to that level.

As if any of them would dare to try.  Draco’s time as a Death Eater, however brief and unsuccessful it may have been, was a fact that lingered in the back of each of the aurors’ minds. He could sense a certain tension building whenever he got frustrated or raised his voice. In those moments, it was as if the entire division was just waiting for him to snap and revert back to his old ways.

To be honest, Draco didn’t mind one bit. As much as he enjoyed the tentative camaraderie that had surfaced since his return to the auror department, he was secretly thrilled that he could still garner respect and, perhaps, strike just an ounce of fear into their hearts. Intimidation was not a skill that he thought he would still possess after losing his sight.

He had assumed that returning to work would be even worse than when he first arrived. At that time, nobody bothered to speak to him. It wasn’t that he was invisible in their eyes; no, it was far worse. Instead, they stared.

Glared would probably be the appropriate term. Though they had won the war, they saw in Draco everything that they had lost. They saw loved ones that ended up as casualties, they saw the misery that they had suffered for the past few years, they saw a scar that would never fully heal. They looked at him like he was evil incarnate.

It was his own personal hell.

It wasn’t as if he had expected to become best pals with any of his co-workers. But there was a part of him, however small, that had hoped that the job would be a chance for him to rebuild his reputation. Everything he’d been raised to believe had been brutally blown apart and he had no idea how to gather all the pieces. A small voice had often asked if it was even worth it.

Not that he’d ever considered offing himself. If the Ministry felt like hell, he could only imagine the punishments that surely waited for him in the afterlife. Besides, there was his mother.

Narcissa Malfoy may have been cold and reserved, but Draco had never doubted that she loved him. Their relationship had been predictably strained by the last several years but she had risked her very life to make sure that he was safe during the Final Battle. There was no way that he could leave her alone.

She had always been sitting by the floo when he arrived home from the Ministry. She would set aside a book that she hadn’t actually been reading and ask, with a hopeful expression, how his day had gone. She would encourage him to go to Ministry events or any functions that his coworkers might be throwing. Narcissa knew the way the world worked and she knew that their only chance to regain even a fraction of their once highly held status was to interact with the wizards and witches that she’d once viewed as beneath her.

Draco would lie and tell her that his day had been fine. He didn’t relish the thoughts of more lies between the two of them but he also couldn’t stand to see her disappointed again.

He remembered so clearly the evening that he had come home as an official Death Eater. She’d known, without Draco even having to say anything. Her face was a careful mask of indifference but he could see the true story behind her eyes. He saw the fear and the pain she felt at her only son being inducted into such a group. But mainly, he saw disappointment.

It took him years to figure out why. He’d assumed his mother would have been proud of him, for rising to fulfill his destiny at such a young age. It was only later that he learned that she had always hoped he would grow up to be different than his father.

**_{6/13/2000}_ **

_Draco stirred in bed, his head throbbing. He moved to stretch his arms above his head but gasped at the shooting pain that hit him. Frowning, he realized that the sheets were stiff and slightly scratchy, nothing like the silk blankets that lay on his own bed. He opened his eyes in confusion only to be confronted with total darkness._

_Blinking, he rubbed his eyes and tried to peer into the black._

_“Accio wand,” he commanded, feeling relief as it landed in his outstretched palm. He cleared his throat and spoke again, “Lumos.”_

_Nothing._

_“Lumos,” he said louder. Why wasn’t the blasted wand working? “Lumos!”_

_“Draco, stop,” came a voice to his right._

_“Mother? Gods you nearly scared me to death. Why are sitting here in the dark? Turn the lights on, there seems to be something wrong with my wand.”_

_He heard her take a deep breath and then, “There’s nothing wrong with your wand, Draco.”_

_“What are you talking about? Of course there is! Look, it won’t even perform a simple Lumos spell. Now will you please, for Merlin’s sake, turn the lights on?”_

_She paused and sniffed. Odd, he didn’t recall her having a cold. He’d have to get her some Pepper-Up potion once he got out of... wherever the hell he was._

_“Do you remember what happened yesterday?”, she asked._

_What was she going on about now? “Let’s see, yesterday I went to work in the morning, as usual. We had gotten a tip the day before about Dolohov hiding out, so I was putting the final touches on the raid that I was orchestrating. We went out there and...”_

_It finally hit him. The reason he wasn’t in his own bed, the reason his wand didn’t appear to be working, the reason he was in so much pain, the reason for his mother’s peculiar behavior: they were all the same._

_The memories came flooding back, overwhelming him. He watched in horror as he saw himself and the other aurors entering Dolohov’s hideout._

_It was an ambush._

_Dolohov and his new allies had been waiting. They vastly outnumbered the aurors and a battle soon broke out. Draco fought as best he could but he knew that there was no way they would win this. The best they could hope for was as few casualties as possible._

_He was just about to call for a retreat when he saw Dolohov wearing a sadistic grin, his gaze fixed on Granger. Draco screamed but nobody could hear him over the roar of the battle. He ran, trying desperately to get her attention. He jumped in front of her just as the purple sparks shot out of Dolohov’s wand, rendering him unconscious._

_He had faded in and out of consciousness only able to grasp a few things: Granger’s piercing screams and cries; the panicked voices as he was escorted into St. Mungo’s; and, finally, the healer’s diagnosis before they forced a Dreamless Drought down his throat._

_Draco sat straight up, ignoring the pain coursing through his ribcage. He was hyperventilating and he couldn’t slow it down. He kept opening and shutting his eyes, desperate to see something, anything, just to prove the healers wrong._

_“Draco, breathe. You have to breathe. Getting worked up will only prolong your recovery.”_

_“Recovery?” he spat. “What recovery?” he gasped in between breaths, “I was very clearly told I would never see again!”_

_He felt the bed dip as his mother sat on the edge. He jumped when she lay her hand over his: startled by not only the shock of being touched without warning but also the affection that Narcissa was displaying. It should have been uncomfortable, but he couldn’t ask her to remove it._

_No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop the flurry of thoughts that coursed through his head. Draco figured that if he could see, the entire room would be tinged with red. Because that’s exactly how he felt: red._

_It didn’t make any sense but neither did anything else that was going on in his brain. Was it possible to_ feel _a color? It wasn’t just anger, it was frustration and pain and embarrassment all mixed up into something he had never before experienced._

_Just, red._

_A bloody Gryffindor color. Figures._

_He struggled to surface and remain conscious, the full weight of his diagnosis bearing down on him. There was a voice in the distance, a woman’s voice; familiar._

_A woman. He would never see another woman for as long as he lived. He’d wasted so much time stowed away at the Manor following the war when he should have been out, dating or shagging or something, anything. He should have relished it while he had the chance. No woman would ever feel anything but pity towards him from that day from forward._

_He should have gone to Greece again, at least once. It had been his favorite place to vacation as a child, the vastness of the bright blue sea calling to him. He would sit on the dock with his mum, watching the sun dance along the water and the white houses before finally dipping below the horizon. Once, he even swore he’d seen a flash of Slytherin green. Narcissa had simply nodded and tugged him back to the hotel._

_Narcissa. That’s who the voice belonged to._

_“Draco, breathe. Can you hear me? Breathe!”_

_He gasped once more before forcing his breathing to even out. When he had managed to calm himself down, he lay back against the head board, shaking from the effort._

_“Water,” he croaked, his voice ragged. He felt a cold glass being pressed into his open palm and, ever so slowly, raised it to his mouth. His hand was trembling more than he’d realized and he ended up sloshing much of the water onto himself._

_He didn’t have it in him to care._

_“How are you feeling?”_

_He turned his head to where he assumed she was sitting and simply raised his right eyebrow._

_“A rather silly question, I suppose, but I don’t really know what else to say. There are so many skills that I’ve learned in my years as a witch and what good have they done me? I haven’t been able to save my family from falling apart, to stop Lucius from self-destructing, or to protect you.”_

_Draco listened, stunned by what was perhaps the longest speech he’d heard from his mother in years. Moreover, he was taken aback by her apparent regret._

_“What are we going to do?” he asked. For the first time in his adult life, he felt small._

_“Healer Blackburn said that you have to stay at St. Mungo’s for at least a few weeks. Apparently the loss of your sight is not their only concern. They want you to stay so they can administer potions, run tests, and keep track of your progress. After they release you, you will return to the Manor. Healer Blackburn did mention something about an in-home healer or someone to stop by several times a week to help you adjust.”_

_“No,” he said, clearing his throat. “What are_ we _going to do? Obviously I can’t work at the Ministry any longer. How else are we going to restore the Malfoy name? I’ve failed, mother.”_

_“Failed?”_

_“I’ve failed as an Auror, just as I did as a Death Eater. And I’ve disappointed you again. I’ll be nothing but a burden to you for the rest of your life.”_

_“Oh, my dear boy. I love you. Don’t you know that? I know I haven’t said it as often as I ought to, but it’s true nonetheless. You survived, Draco; do you really think I care what state you came back in? My only regret is that I wasn’t able to keep you from joining the Dark Lord’s ranks. I thought if I kept you away from it long enough, if I distracted you with quidditch lessons and new toys, if I denied you access you to your father’s study and the cruel secrets that lurked behind those doors, that I might be able to save you from his fate._

_“Your father has always been deluded by the promises offered to him by the Dark Lord. I knew that you were too clever to fall for that but what I didn’t foresee was you joining out of necessity. Something in me broke the night that you came home with the Mark because I knew that_ I _had failed.”_

_Draco sat in stunned silence. Never in his life had his mother been so open, so honest, so affectionate. His mother, who was always the picture of poise and composure. He felt a stinging sensation in his eyes and he began to panic, fearing some new side effect from the spell damage, until he felt moisture running down his cheek._

_Tears? Really? He wasn’t a sodding 5 year old. This day just kept getting worse._

_Suddenly, he heard a loud creak and footsteps in the room. “Mrs. Malfoy?” asked the voice. “Visiting hours are over. I’m afraid I have to ask you to leave.”_

_Draco jumped again at the unannounced contact, this time his mother’s lips against his forehead. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”_

_“Okay,” was all he could manage to say._

_“Mr. Malfoy,” spoke the voice again. “I’m Nurse Hale. Do you need anything for the night? Some dinner perhaps?”_

_“Not hungry.”_

_“Alright well I’ve re-filled your water pitcher here on your bedside table and I’ve left a plate of food with a warming charm on, just in case. If you need help with it, just press the small button on the left-hand side of your bed and myself or one of the other nurses will be in to assist you.”_

_“Wait. There is one thing.” He paused, slightly mortified. “I have to, you know...”_

_“Relieve yourself?”_

_Draco rolled his eyes and nodded._

_“Okay then, sir, you’ll just need to come with me to the other end of the room.”_

_“I don’t need your bloody help to take a piss!” Draco exclaimed, aghast._

_“No, but you’ll need my help to get there.”_

_He grudgingly agreed and swung his feet to the right side of the bed, pushing himself off the mattress. The nurse grabbed his hand, pausing when he flinched, and placed it on what he guessed to be her shoulder. She appeared to be quite a bit shorter than he was._

_He felt her move forward and he followed suit. In that instant, Draco no longer felt red. Instead, he was terrified. He pictured his entire life played out like this, having to rely on his mother or some care taker to lead him anywhere that he needed to go. He would be a complete joke. Who’d ever heard of a blind wizard? No more casting spells, no more quidditch; just himself, needing another person to navigate where he only saw darkness._

_He didn’t even know this woman, this nurse! For all he knew, she could be leading him straight off a cliff and he would have no idea. He was so vulnerable now, open to any sort of attack or cruel trick, and utterly defenseless._

_His mother had sounded so genuinely relieved that he had survived but right now, he wasn’t so sure he felt the same._

Looking back, he might have overreacted.

Okay he definitely overreacted.

But, in his defense, those feelings had seemed completely warranted at the time. Finding out one’s entire life had changed tended to have that effect on a person.

Gods, was he glad to be done with that self-loathing period of his life. He didn’t enjoy remembering it and found himself desperate for a distraction.

Luckily, the fates appeared to be on his side for a change.

The floo chime dinged and he heard Hermione’s footsteps on the tile. It was odd, the details that now committed themselves to his memory. Two years ago, he wouldn’t have been able to distinguish her gait from anyone else’s.

“Why haven’t you dressed yet?” she asked, sounding a bit annoyed.

“Well good morning to you too, love,” he replied as he stood up to greet her.

She gave him a quick peck before replying. “We’re meeting your mother for brunch in 10 minutes and you’re still wearing your pajamas! Not to mention this new restaurant that she insisted upon is on the complete opposite end of Diagon Alley. It’ll take us 10 minutes just to get there! Just because it’s almost your birthday does _not_ mean-”

“Alright, alright, I’ll change,” he said, holding his hands in surrender. “Just take a seat and I’ll be right out. And do remember to breathe, love. You have met her before. It’s all going to be okay”

She huffed instead of agreeing and moved around him to get to the couch. Draco walked forward in the direction he was already facing, stretching out his arm to run along the hallway wall. When he reached the second door frame on the left, he moved his hand downward, searching for the doorknob.

He pushed the door open, walked straight for seven steps, and held out his hand to make sure he’d reached the closet. Satisfied, he pushed open the sliding door.

He reached up and grabbed the first robe he felt. Moving his hand up to the collar, he searched for the Braille label, which read _Onyx Black_.

Black should do just fine. Anywhere his mother had chosen to eat was certain to be up-scale but he certainly wasn’t going to put on dress robes for Sunday brunch. Plus, at least he knew he wouldn’t end up clashing with Hermione.

He grabbed a few other essentials from around the room and made his way into the bathroom. A quick washing of the face, brushing of the teeth, and fixing of the hair and he was set to go.

He joined Hermione in the living room.

“Honestly, Hermione, we have to go meet my mother. What are you doing sitting around on the couch?” he teased, trying his best to hold back a small grin.

“Oh you think you’re clever, now do you? Now that we have exactly two minutes to meet her?” she shot back, though without any real malice in her tone.

He heard her rise from the couch and make her way over to him. She paused once she reached him, grabbing his hand, and together they walked towards the fireplace.

He stopped her once they reached the fireplace, which was five steps away, and turned towards her. “I don’t believe you even said a proper hello to me yet,” he said with mock hurt.

She grabbed the collar of his robes and pulled his head down slightly, leaning in for a kiss. “Hello,” she whispered when she broke the kiss, pulling back just enough for him to still feel her smile.

“Much better.”

He reached out to his right and found his cane resting in its usual place while Hermione got enough floo powder for both of them.

“Ready?” she asked.

He nodded his agreement and once he heard the hiss of the fire igniting, they both announced “Diagon Alley” and stepped into the flames.

 He was immediately met with the chaotic sounds of Diagon Alley on a Sunday morning. He heard hooting from Eyelop’s Owl Emporium’s apparently open door, children fawning over whichever latest broom was in the window at Broomstix, and the general hustle and bustle of footsteps and shopping bags.

“Where’s this restaurant at again?” he asked.

“Towards the end of the street, just past Twilfitt and Tatting's.”

“Ah yes, of course. Mother probably discovered it when she was shopping there. Alright then, let’s go.”

He held out his arm, allowing Hermione to hook hers around his elbow. He held out his cane with his other hand, making sure the immediate pathway was clear, and began walking.

It didn’t take long for the chaotic noises to hush and give way to a symphony of whispers. Draco took a deep breath and did his best to keep walking.

Hermione must have sensed his tension because she quickly started talking about this new book series that she wanted to read. She went on and on about the premise and he nodded and made comments in all the right places, but his mind was elsewhere.

It had been over a year since he made his return to wizarding society but he still wasn’t used to the unwanted attention. He knew that his _situation_ was an easy target for gossip but most of the time he was able to forget about that.

When he was at work or in his flat, things felt almost normal. But when he was in public, in Diagon Alley especially, he couldn’t help but be confronted by how different he was.

“Draco, did you hear what I just said?” Hermione asked, tugging on his arm. “I was saying I think this is a series you would really like because –“

“Are people staring?” he interrupted.

“Draco,” she hedged.

 “I just... I would like to know if the whole of Diagon Alley is watching me walk the sidewalk.”

She sighed and took a minute before answering. “Some people are staring, yes. Honestly though, most just look over when they hear your cane and then return to whatever they were doing. It’s not as if anyone is gawking.”

Draco breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. Do you remember the first time we tried this?”

“Of course, how could I forget. It’s not often I’m on the opposite side of an Auror lecture. And you know I still maintain that – “

“That Pansy Parkinson was perfectly capable of reversing the _Engorgio Skullus_ but the charm couldn’t have been that much of a nuisance since she’d lived with such a big head her entire life,” he laughed wryly at the memory. “Gods I wish I could’ve seen that.”

“She was asking for it!! She’s lucky that’s all I did. It still infuriates me how she actually deigned to stand there and say such… such terrible things to you”

“You don’t have to be afraid of repeating them, love. Her words can’t hurt me anymore and they haven’t been able to for a long time. That day they just took me by surprise that’s all. It’s one thing to speculate that your former friends believe your current predicament is penance for hunting down the remaining death eaters but it’s quite another to get audible confirmation.”

“She’s just bitter and vindictive,” Hermione seethed. “She had no right to call you a cripple or mock you for running into that woman with your cane. Honestly I know first years with more manners and decency then her.”

“She wasn’t just bitter. She was jealous. Pansy never did handle rejection very well and now here I am walking down Diagon Alley with a genuine war hero on my arm. I was preparing to tell her as much when the aurors arrived on site. She can say whatever she likes but I’m the lucky one in this scenario.” Draco stopped and pulled in her in for a deep kiss.

“Well if people weren’t staring before, they certainly are now!” Hermione stage-whispered, amusement evident in her tone.

“Ah yes well a wise woman once told me that people are always going to stare and talk; you just have to give them a reason to say something positive.”

Hermione chuckled and leaned in for another quick peck. “A very wise woman indeed. Now come on! We are now officially late, and your mother does not like to be kept waiting.”

\------------------------------------------------------------------

Brunch passed easily and without incident. Once the dishes were cleared, Hermione excused herself to the loo.

“She’s a force of nature, that one,” Narcissa commented after only a few seconds of silence.

Draco smirked.

“That she is, Mother. She… inspires me. Every day. She makes me want to be a better man. You know more than anybody how long it took me to stand up for myself again, after the accident. She doesn’t use my schoolboy mistakes against me or try to change me; instead I seem to challenge myself to grow alongside her. She just makes me – “

“Happy.” Narcissa finished. “She makes you happy. I’m sure you both had reservations about meeting me here today. Given our family legacy, it’s not unreasonable to presume that I would be hesitant of this relationship. But those inbred prejudices have been fading for a long time now. I’d be a fool to disapprove of any witch who could bring such a genuine smile to your face.”

Draco cleared his throat, unsure of what else to do. The day after his accident was perhaps the only other time he’d heard his mother speak with such genuine affection. He hadn’t quite realized how much her approval would mean to him. It was as if a puzzle piece he didn’t even know was missing had finally clicked into place.

“I will just never understand why they don’t make women’s restrooms double the size of men. There’s always a long queue. You’d think at some point someone would’ve been clever enough to say ‘hey, we can do something about this,’” Hermione rambled as she took her seat. “Draco are you alright? You’re quite pensive for one in the afternoon.”

Draco shook himself out of his trance and smiled. “Yes love, I’m alright. Quite alright indeed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaand back at it with the angst. I needed to get Draco's reaction to his accident in here at some point (the story felt incomplete without it) so I tried to soften the blow with a little Narcissa love. She's always fascinated me as a character.
> 
> Hope you all had a wonderful holiday season and thank you as always for the kudos and kind feedback!! Keep it comin'!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, sorry!! Life got in the way a bit and this is the first spare moment I've had to post this.

 

 

**{11/5/2002}**

 

Draco was feeling introspective today.

However, he was also full of so much nervous energy that he was positive it was radiating off of him in waves. Sitting was no longer an option. He pushed himself off the couch and made his way over to his bookshelf.

Reaching his hand out, he traced the titles of a few of his favorite books. He still couldn’t put into words the… relief he’d felt when Hermione had introduced him to Braille. After his diagnosis, he’d thought that reading was another item on the list of things he’d never be able to do again. It wasn’t one of the first conclusions he came to, but when the realization struck him, it had been devastating. Unbeknownst to those around him, reading had been his only means of true escape for years. He’d go into his room, cast a noise-cancelling charm, and get lost in a book. There was something addicting about reading about the problems of others; his own troubles usually seemed trivial in comparison. His father may have been distant, cold, and demanding, but at least Draco wasn’t on the run from fugitives, trapped in a mountain, or forced to slay a dragon.

He’d never forget that day. Hermione, or Granger as she had still been to him at the time, had burst through the door in her signature style. He’d sighed in annoyance; honestly, the woman rarely gave him a moment’s peace. There was always a new question, a new theory she’d been working on. She moved at a mile a minute, never slowing down or pausing. She grated his nerves, yes, but Draco would be lying to say that he didn’t miss the company when evening rolled around, when there was nothing but the silence and his dreary thoughts to keep him entertained.

**_{7/25/2000}_ **

_“What do you do all day?” She demanded once she was in her usual spot, a plastic waiting chair she’d transfigured into a comfortable armchair. If the creak that sounded was any indication, she had plopped down rather unceremoniously._

_“Ponder the questions of the universe, mostly. Today I’ve been trying to figure out why St. Mungo’s has yet to employ house elves who actually know how to cook,” he drawled. Out of habit, he rolled his eyes. It was a pointless gesture, he knew, due to the broad sunglasses he now wore daily. They were slightly bothersome to have on all day but he kept them on as a point of pride. He’d spent the first two weeks with his eyelids clenched tightly shut. It was a futile attempt to maintain some control of his situation; he was choosing not to see. He’d give no one the satisfaction of watching his sightless eyes drift across the room with no point to focus on. After Granger’s demand that he start making an effort, he’d made the sunglasses a demand of his own._

_“As fascinating as I’m sure that is, don’t you ever get bored?”_

_“I’m blind, recovering from brutal spell damage, and I’m trapped in this room. I don’t exactly have a lot of options, do I?” For being the supposed brains of the operation, she could be really dense at times. What exactly did she expect him to do all day? “Sometimes I remember to have a healer turn on some music before they leave me for the night but I’m already tired of the few artists I had in my collection.” Was he bored? What kind of question was that? Of course he was bloody bored. His mind was begging for some sort of stimulation, some sort of distraction. He supposed he could have had a healer read him The Daily Prophet but he refused. Another point of pride._

_He heard the deep intake and exhale of breath and knew she was trying to compose herself. With the exception of her initial rant, she had yet to raise her voice in the three weeks that she’d been visiting him. This new, and hopefully temporary, Granger was more careful of her words and it nearly drove him mad. At least if she argued he’d have something to do._

_“I’m asking because I brought something I thought you might like to try. I doubt you’ve heard of it but don’t write it off, okay? Just hear me out.” Another deep inhale; she sounded as if she was bracing herself. “There’s a way that I could teach you how to read.”_

_He was intrigued but found the proposition absurd. He offered a humorless laugh, “And how, pray tell, do you plan on doing that? Sending images of pages into my head?”_

_“Of course not. There’s a written language designed for the… visually impaired. It relies on touch instead of sight and is used by feeling raised bumps on a page. Here, try it out for yourself.” She placed a heavy object onto his lap. He felt around and finally discovered the item’s location. It appeared to be a book. On further exploration, he felt small bumps rising off the front cover. For the first time, he allowed himself to get excited. The bumps meant nothing to him now, but they held endless potential. “I’ll take that smile as a sign that you’re interested?”_

_Draco’s face immediately fell back into its familiar scowl. He’d forgotten she was sitting not two feet away. He was still skeptical and his tone showed it when he replied. “How come I’ve never heard of this before? Did you create a language in your spare time?”_

_“It’s a muggle invention.”_

_Great. He continued to fall lower and lower. Forced to rely on a muggle development. He shuddered but couldn’t bring himself to discard the whole idea. He was too captivated at the idea of reading once again._

_Though Granger surely saw his discomfort, she said nothing. Instead, she placed a plastic sheet in his hands. “This is the Braille alphabet. The page contains each letter in alphabetical order. Once you’ve memorized these, the rest is fairly simple to figure out. Virtually every muggle book can be found in Braille, so you may have to start with those. I’m sure there’s a way to translate wizarding books into Braille. I’ve been playing around with the idea but I haven’t come up with anything yet._

_“Well, I best be off. I’m meeting Ron & Harry for dinner so I can’t stay long this afternoon. I just came by to drop those off.” Without waiting for a response, she made her way towards the door._

_“Granger, wait.” He listened to sudden stop of her footsteps, the slight squeak that indicated she was turning back to face him. “Thank you.”_

_It was the second time he’d said those words to her and he was still unnerved by the way they sounded. If she was shocked, she hid it well. She simply told him that he was welcome and was out the door in a few seconds._

A clap on the shoulder jolted Draco from his memory. He jumped and whirled around to face his attacker.

“Whoa, sorry mate. I’ve been calling your name since I walked through the floo and you weren’t responding. You were staring off into space.”

While everyone else had removed any sight-related words from their vocabulary, Blaise still treated Draco the same as he did before the accident. He was always punching Draco on the shoulder, asking if he noticed anything odd about the couple a few tables over, or inviting him to quidditch matches. It was nice to be treated normally for a change. Blaise always said that he forgot Draco was blind half the time, which Draco supposed was a compliment and a testament to the progress he’d made in the past two and a half years.

Hell, there were times the pair of them were hanging out and even Draco managed to forget for the briefest of moments. A rare feat to accomplish indeed.

He was used to it by now, the saccharine and timid voices that constantly asked if he needed any help. He was used to the embarrassed silences and awkward throat clearings after someone mentioned that it was nice to _see_ him again. He was even used to the genuine shock he heard when a fellow wizard witnessed him using magic.

And he loathed all of it.

The truth was that he would give just about anything to have the rest of the wizarding society treat him the way that Blaise did. And while he’d come to accept that it would never quite happen, it didn’t stop him from yearning for it. And it didn’t stop him from trying to force their hand.

He’d tried to assuage their unease in earnest, reassuring over and over again that he was not offended when someone spoke of an art exhibit they’d seen the week before. He’d tried being assertive, being very vocal about the fact that yes, he could bloody well go shopping alone and he didn’t need a sodding medal for it. He’d thought about pulling the pity card, but he couldn’t stomach the actual execution. Because he wasn’t hurt, he was just beyond annoyed.

Draco knew, of course, that most people’s actions were caused by genuine concern or a misguided urge to help. He doubted that most of them even knew they were causing any harm. The Pansy Parkisons of the world were in shockingly low numbers these days and they mostly kept out of public. Oddly enough, it was easier to deal with the occasional harassment or slur thrown his way because it happened so rarely. He allowed himself to feel the anger or humiliation or hurt. They were cruel instances, but they were manageable. They were temporary. He didn’t have to deal with them every waking minute.

For once in his life, Draco Malfoy simply wanted to be normal.

Hermione was there through it all, naturally. He kept his grievances to himself for the most part but he could tell that she knew. She always knew. And though he would roll his eyes at her occasional speeches about how normal wizards were vastly overrated, he always appreciated them.

Blaise, on the other hand, was charmingly unaffected by the whole situation. It wasn’t until after the war that the two of them had begun to develop a genuine friendship; finally free from the obligations and restrictions of their upbringings. Draco was grateful to have at least one remnant of his former life who didn’t view him as a traitor for becoming an auror.

In classic Zabini fashion, he’d just stared when Draco had told him and raised his eyebrows, not even considering that there could be a reason for a negative reaction.

Draco couldn’t help but wonder how different life would be if everyone else just accepted circumstances for what they were.

“It’s fine. You just freaked me out.”

“Oh right, the ‘touching thing.’ I just didn’t know how else to get your attention. You ready to go? Have everything you need?”

“Yeah, let me just grab my jacket.” Draco headed back to the couch, picking up the suit jacket that was draped over the armrest. He had ditched the robes tonight in favor of semi-formal muggle wear. They felt ridiculous, but Hermione loved seeing them on him and tonight was all about her. Plus, his dress robes would have been out of place at the muggle restaurant.

Draco walked back towards Blaise, reluctantly holding out his arm. Blaise grasped it and Draco felt the familiar pull of apparition. The act of apparating hadn’t changed, as he’d always kept his eyes closed before, but he now hated the end result. He could use the floo network to get to familiar places and knew the general set up of the room when stepping out of the fireplace. Apparating could literally take him anywhere. He could still apparate to very familiar places like the Manor or Blaise’s home; these images were ingrained in his mind and therefore accessible. But it still made him anxious and uneasy to have no clue about his surroundings.

“Alright, we’re in an alley about a block away. It was the closest place I could find,” Blaise said. Draco nodded, reaching inside his jacket pocket. Grasping nothing but air, he tried again. Alarmed, he realized his mistake.

“Shit! I forgot my cane. I can’t make it all the way to the restaurant without it. And how am I supposed to make it to our table? Gods, I’m so stupid. Everything’s planned out and then I go and-“

“Hey, hey calm down! We can just apparate back and grab it.”

“There isn’t time! We’re already running later than I’d planned and I still have to talk to the maître d’ to make sure everything’s arranged. I can’t believe this! What was I thinking? I even left it right by my jacket so I could -”

“Mate, you need to get it together! Look, just hold onto my arm or shoulder or whatever and I’ll get you to the restaurant and your table. Then I’ll go back and get your cane while you’re talking to the maître d’. Come on, let’s get going.” Blaise grabbed Draco’s hand and placed it on the back of his arm.

As they walked away, Draco answered, “Right. Okay. Yeah, that’ll work. I’m just… This night has to be perfect. It has to be.”

“Everything is going to go just fine so long as you calm down. It’s not like you two haven’t discussed this before. There’s no reason for you to get this worked up.”

Draco forced himself to take deep breaths and focus on the task ahead. He knew he was freaking out but he couldn’t help it. His first instinct had always been to snap when a situation was agitating him. Hermione had been on the receiving end of more than her fair share of lash outs. There was a scene at St. Mungo’s that constantly stood out in his mind.

He’d been there for 7 months and he and Hermione had recently made their relationship official. She burst through the door in her typical whirlwind. He’d just finished a particularly difficult session with Mr. Belter, who’d been trying to coach him on relearning basic wand skills despite the fact that he had not an ounce of knowledge on the subject. Draco had risen to greet her but misjudged his exact position and his foot had caught the leg of the table, sending him and its contents crashing to the floor.

**_{1/9/2001}_ **

_“What can I do?” Hermione asked, her voice dripping with concern. It was enough to make Draco sick._

_“Nothing! That’s what you can do,” he snapped. He hadn’t meant for his tone to be so harsh but he did not regret it. All it did was reflect what had been brewing deep inside him._

_“Draco, I… I was just trying to help,” The once bright voice was now muted with pain and laced with surprise._

_“Well maybe I don’t want it! Gods, Hermione, I’m not a complete invalid! I misjudged the distance to the table and I fell, alright? That’s it. I’m going to clean up this mess and – “_

_“Don’t stress yourself anymore than you already have today. Just get back into bed and I’ll have this cleaned up in a matter of seconds,” she placated._

_“Hermione, stop! Just stop!” Draco’s chest heaved up and down. He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. He could feel his scowl deepening each second. “I’m not a charity case that you’re obligated to help with. I’m not a toddler you’re stuck babysitting. I’m your boyfriend! I just, I need –“_

_“I’ve never treated you like a charity case! You needed help and I’ve always been here to offer it!”_

_“No, what I need is to keep some of my dignity, okay? I’m still a man. I may have recently been robbed of my independence but there is still more to me than this injury. The only thing that matters to anyone lately is my lack of sight. Everyone walks on eggshells trying not to offend me. Poor Draco, the disabled. Do you realize how emasculating that is? I’m not asking you to treat me the same way you always have. I just need you to treat me like_ **I** _still matter.”_

_The air was thick with a silence; it pressed in on all sides as Draco positioned himself away from the table. Facing the direction he came from, he took slow, careful steps back to his bed. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 straight steps, turn right and take one step, turn left and take two steps. He felt relief at the plush blanket beneath his left hand. He’d managed to do one thing right this afternoon. Now using both hands to steady himself, he crawled back into bed and scooted back towards the headrest._

_Tentative steps sounded from across the room. Draco listened as she made her way over to the chair positioned to the right of his bed. She’d spent hours in that very chair, researching, talking, or simply holding his hand. She cleared her throat before lacing her fingers through his, desperate to avoid any further surprises that day. Squeezing his hand, she finally found her voice._

_“Listen to me. It has never been my intention to act that way around you. I hate that I’ve made you feel that way. Of course you matter. I had no idea…” She trailed off again. More than anything, Draco wished she’d continue. Hermione was never speechless. This was unnatural. It made him feel uncomfortable in the worst possible way. “I never meant to make you feel like you were beneath me. Do you really still think, after all these months, that I’m trapped here by some lethal mix of guilt and pity? Of course you matter! You don’t think it kills me to watch you crash to the ground when I feel like I could have prevented it? You don’t think my heart aches every time you struggle with a task I take for granted?_

_“I don’t want you to suffer any more than you already have. That’s the reason I’m always trying to help. The only one, I swear it.” Her voice had begun to crack at some point and he now felt the drops of moisture falling onto his hands. He felt like such an ass. Line #126 on the list of reasons why he didn’t deserve Hermione Granger._

_“I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have yelled but I just couldn’t take it any longer. I should be the one helping you. I should be taking you out on dates instead of condemning you to countless hours in this same room. I’m not… I’m not the man I thought I would be. I’ve told you time and again that you deserve someone else but if you’re going to stay, here, with me, I need you to treat me like you would any other boyfriend. You can help if I ask but I have healers and Mr. Belter for everything else. I don’t need you to do everything and teach me everything. I need you to treat me like I’m more than my disability.”_

“We’re here.” Draco felt Blaise pause to open the door and then followed him inside. After Draco told the hostess which name the reservation was under, she led them to the set aside table. He asked her to bring the maître d’ over and she said he’d be right over.

“I’m going back to the flat. Are you ok?” asked Blaise. Draco nodded in response. “Alright. Just take a moment and breathe. You still have 15 minutes before she’s due to arrive and I’ll be back well before that.”

Robert, the maître d’, arrived a few seconds after Basie’s departure. Robert confirmed that all of Draco’s requests had been met. A bouquet of roses would be waiting for Hermione at the door. Her place setting had been engraved with “Happy Anniversary” in an elegant font. Draco himself had picked the champagne that would be brought to the table upon her arrival. Blaise came back around five minutes later, handing off the cane and giving Draco an enthusiastic pat on the shoulder before he left. Everything was in order.

In no time at all, he heard Hermione’s familiar gait approaching the table. “Draco this is beautiful but you didn’t have to go through all this trouble! I told you I haven’t even had a chance to shop for your present yet.” She walked over and gave him a quick kiss.

Keeping one hand on the table, Draco stood up and led Hermione over to her place across from his. He pulled out her chair and listened for it to creak before gently pushing her back towards the table. She thanked him as he walked back to his seat. The champagne arrived and the pair began talking about the consuming case that had been occupying so much of Hermione’s recent attention. Conversation carried comfortably all through dinner. Desert arrived a few minutes after their entrée plates were taken away; Draco had preordered Hermione’s favorite, crème brulee.

“You’ve really gone and thought of everything, haven’t you? This night has been incredible. Thank you, Draco, truly.” She cleared her throat and reached across the table for his hand.

“Of course, love. I was happy to do it. I’ve never arranged anything like this so I’m pleased that you’ve enjoyed it. I’ve, um, I’ve never had a need to show someone what they mean to me. I’d plan a thousand more dinners like tonight if it showed you how much I cared for you. Even then, it couldn’t possibly explain what you’ve meant to me over these past two years that we’ve been together.

You’ve brought light back into my life when I thought it had been lost forever. You taught me how to stand up for myself again. I am a better man, in every way, because of you. Because you challenge me to grow in ways that I never even considered.

I’ve enjoyed every hour we’ve spent together, even the ones spent fighting, and I know that’s never going to change. I love you, Hermione Granger.”

With this, he rose from his chair. Never letting go of her hand, he walked over to her chair. Upon recognizing his stance, Hermione let out a gasp.

“Will you marry me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confession: I struggled with this ending a lot. A lot of back and forth. I was (and I guess still am) worried that the proposal was too simple. But I think that Draco being on Hermione's turf, proposing without the use of magic, would mean a lot to her so ultimately that's what I settled on. Not to fear: there will be plenty of magical surprises coming up in the next couple of chapters.
> 
> Would love to hear what you guys thought about this one!


	6. Chapter 6

**{10/15/2003}**

“Get up! I have a surprise,” announced Hermione as she exited the fireplace into Draco’s flat.

“Well, hello, I’m doing quite well thanks for asking,” Draco smirked. She did this so often that it was no longer a shock. She spent so much time at his flat she practically lived there. Usually, bursting in like this meant she’d figured out a new way to help him, a new charm or spell. She’d been doing it ever since his little initial outburst. Not only had she come up with ways to make everyday life easier, she was constantly coming up with new ways for him to truly enjoy life. While he’d insisted it wasn’t necessary, it didn’t mean he wasn’t grateful. The things she’d been able to come up with were incredible. Take, for instance, his cane. 

One of Hermione’s most effective ideas, she’d put her plan into action right before Draco moved back home. He was understandably nervous. He had mastered getting around his room and the surrounding hallways at St. Mungo’s, but maneuvering the Manor would be another feat entirely. In retrospect, it might have been easier to move straight into his own place. The healer had been insistent, however, that it would make more sense for him to move back to a place that he was familiar with.

He’d once loved the massive space at home. However, the endless corridors were now a cause for concern. He’d be able to walk without tripping over anything, but how was he supposed to reach the library, the dining room, or even his bedroom? Would he be forced to walk with one hand on the wall, waiting to feel a door or entryway? There’s no way he could memorize the amount of steps to each location, as he’d done here at St. Mungo’s. He’d never spoken his fears aloud but she knew. Hermione always knew. 

She’d burst into his room at St. Mungo’s the day before he was scheduled to be discharged, walked over to his bed, and took his cane. After murmuring a spell that Draco had never heard of, she’d forced it into his hands, insisting that he try it out.

**_{4/11/2001}_ **

_ Draco quirked an eyebrow, unsure of what she could have possibly done to his cane. She’d clearly changed something, but what? The surface was still smooth. It was made of some sort of reinforced plastic. In all honesty, he’d tuned out when Hermione had been discussing the specifics. The handle maintained its shape, seamless fitting the curve of his hand. The weight hadn’t been altered either; it was still incredibly light. _

_ Pushing himself out of bed, he turned and faced the door. Draco started the slow, systematic tapping he’d worked so hard to perfect, and then stopped suddenly. An odd sensation had washed over him: he could tell where everything in the room was. It wasn’t that he’d seen the room; the ever-present darkness still remained. Somehow though, he knew precisely where the door was. He knew he hadn’t turned properly when leaving his bed and was now facing slightly to the left of the partially opened door.  _

_ He tried it again, going through the door frame and into the hallway. The sensation remained, feeding him new information on his environment. He could tell the hallway was filled with more doors than he’d imagined, some open, some closed, and a table pressed against the back wall that he hadn’t known was there. _

_ He listened, quite fascinated, as Hermione explained that she had charmed his cane to use something akin to sonar. From what Draco could understand, it didn’t give him an image of the room, but rather allowed him to feel where everything touching the floor was located. He’d be able to avoid objects before he ran into them with his cane. It would be a great tool in unfamiliar surroundings. Most importantly, he’d be able to maneuver the Manor much like he used to. He’d be able to get to the open foyer, walk safely down the stairs, and even enter the third room on the right side of the East Wing that had once housed his personal study. His house might once again feel like home. _

Hermione was astonishing, really. Draco had no doubt he’d enjoy whatever she’d come up with today. “I’m going to apparate us, okay? I know you hate it but it’s the easiest way to get there.”

Draco nodded reluctantly and held out his arm. His stomach twisted until he finally felt solid ground beneath his feet. “What are we doing?” he asked. “The wedding is tomorrow. I thought you’d be busy most of the day.” The wedding, their wedding, would take place in just over 24 hours. It had been eleven months and Draco still couldn’t believe she’d said yes. 

Everyone else told him he’d been crazy to doubt it. Hadn’t they already started building a life together? They already went everywhere together, did everything together. It just made sense. Yet Draco was still marveling at his good fortune. The infamous Malfoy confidence had been broken but Hermione had been slowly building it back up. It may sound sappy – and that was not a word that had ever been used to describe him – but he really did feel more powerful by her side

“I was busy this morning but I completed everything I needed to get done. Besides, this is something I’ve been planning for awhile. It’s your wedding present.” Draco didn’t need his sight to tell that Hermione’s face was covered in a huge grin. Whatever this was, she was quite excited and he couldn’t help smiling in return. 

“Oh really? Well then I can’t wait. Could you tell me where we are though?” Judging by the slight breeze, he knew they were outside. Near a forest, perhaps? He could hear leaves rustling close by. He never had to worry when he was with Hermione but it was still a little unsettling to have no idea where one was.

“Sorry, I hadn’t meant to do that to you. We’re about a mile outside the Manor,” she replied.

The Manor? That must mean… 

“Are we at my old practice area?” Draco guessed. He’d brought her here a couple times for picnics. This is where he’d learned to fly. He’d spent countless hours training on the spacious grass field. Even after he’d left Hogwarts, this was a place where Draco came to relax. There was a soothing element to flying that Draco had yet to encounter anywhere else.

“Correct!” Hermione answered, clearly pleased. She thrust an object at his chest. His hand closed around a solid wooden pole he instantly recognized.

“I appreciate it, love, but our last attempt at flying wasn’t exactly a roaring success. Remember?” Honestly, it had been bloody terrifying. Hermione had convinced him to let her take both of them up in the air. Not only was it unnerving to know he was sailing through the air without being able to see it, Hermione happened to be an awful flyer. She was rigid and nervous the whole flight, nearly crashing almost 5 times.  Used to his own smooth and swift steering, Hermione’s jerky movements and sudden changes in direction had soon made Draco nauseous. 

“Yes, but I won’t be steering this time. You’ll be on your own today.”

“I highly doubt going into the air alone will produce better results. It was quite thoughtful of you though.” Truthfully, Draco was a bit disappointed. He desperately missed flying.

“I happen to be much more thoughtful than you give me credit for. I’ve set up special wards around the entire field. Your broom has been spelled to recognize the wards; it will slow down to a hover if you reach any of the boundaries. The space is already clear of trees, so you shouldn’t encounter any obstacles.”

Draco was speechless. His heart was racing at the possibility of being able to fly again. He was excited but also very anxious. “You’re serious? I… That’s… It’s fantastic but I haven’t used that broom in over three years. I’m not even sure I know what to do anymore.” What he wasn’t voicing was the fear of flying blind. Speeding through the air had always been exhilarating. Would it be the same if he couldn’t see the landscape rushing past? Would terror overcome him as he attempted to steer in total darkness?

“Draco,” Hermione said softly, taking his hand. “You’ve been flying since you were five years old. That’s not something you just forget. It’s not going to be the same as before and I know that stings. But think of how much you’ve always loved it. You have a chance to do something you thought you’d lost forever. Don’t try to fly the same way you used to; you can’t rely on sight anymore. You’ll have to just feel it.”

Once again, Hermione had said exactly what Draco needed to hear. Her voice was strong and commanding, her tone revealing confidence in him. He’d never had anyone place as much faith in him as Hermione did. 

Steeling himself, he pulled the broom from her grasp and walked a few feet in the opposite direction. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves and kicked off the ground. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------

**{10/16/2003}**

In short, Draco was a mess. He supposed it was natural for someone to be nervous on their wedding day. It wasn’t cold feet, of that he was certain. Nobody had ever cared for him like Hermione did and he couldn’t imagine giving her up. But should he? It was a question he constantly wrestled with. Was he condemning her to this life? Did he have a right to do that?

He’d long ago come to accept his disability. He was blind. It was no reason to hide from the world and mope about. He didn’t like it, but he’d learned that there were times he would need to ask for help. Logically, he knew there was no reason to be embarrassed or ashamed, though he couldn’t shake the feeling completely. He’d accepted that he needed to take a different approach to most tasks. He’d realized that there were some activities he’d probably never do again. He was fine with it, really. But Hermione?

She ought to have a husband could look into her eyes every morning and tell her how beautiful she was. She should be with someone who could be spontaneous and surprise her with exotic getaways. What if she wanted children someday? The thought of being a father terrified Draco. Though truth be told, perhaps that wasn’t strictly because of his disability.

On top of the conflict that raged within him, Draco was experiencing a sense of loss. He was grieving over something he never knew he’d wanted: being able to see his future wife walk down the aisle. He wanted to see how stunning she would surely look in the muggle wedding dress she’d chosen. He wanted to look into her eyes as they shared their first dance. He wanted to appreciate the event that she’d spent the past eleven months planning.

Ah yes, the planning. When she’d started out, Draco had insisted she plan her dream wedding. He had more than enough money to cover whatever she desired and it wasn’t as if he would have any complaints about the décor. A couple months ago, however, she’d changed her approach. Every once in awhile, she would slip in a question. Usually small queries, such as: was his favorite color closer to pale green or Slytherin green? She’d asked his opinions on flowers, table centerpieces, and locations. While he’d pointed out that it didn’t much matter, she’d insisted that part of wedding planning involved making decisions with one’s fiancé and he’d walked away from the conversation feeling rather guilty. Since then, he’d made more of an effort to offer an honest opinion when Hermione asked for it.

He shook his head, trying to rid it of the negative thoughts that were threatening to overwhelm him. He was nervous, yes, but also terribly excited. He was getting married today. He was getting married to a woman who had helped him through the most trying period of his life, a woman he truly loved. 

Many had questioned his decision to propose so young, but Draco had no doubts in that regard. They were no ordinary couple. They’d experienced first-hand the pain of war, loss, and trying times. They knew how easily the people and things they held most dear could be yanked from their grasp. Hermione was the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. What was the point in waiting any longer? He wanted a public declaration, a bond that no one could take from them. The world needed to know just how much Draco Malfoy loved Hermione Granger. 

As Draco brushed off his dress robes for the umpteenth time, a knock came from behind the closed door. “Draco? It’s almost time for the ceremony to start. Are you ready to go?” asked his mother, opening the door and walking inside. He heard the rustle of the wedding invitation she held in her hand. 

Each invitation was in fact a portkey that activated with a simple code word. It had been Draco’s idea, one he was quite proud of actually. Hermione had been thrilled that the location could remain a secret until the guests arrived. She’d debated over the location the longest and wanted to surprise everyone with the end product.

Draco confirmed that he was ready and went through his mental checklist for the last time. He padded the inside of his robes, making sure his shrunken cane was tucked away. It was just a precaution, really. Someone would be by his side all night. He’d be walking his mother down the aisle, after which point Hermione would likely stick by him. When she couldn’t be with him, he’d have his best man, Blaise. 

Draco activated the portkey and the silence of his bedroom faded away. He stood still for a moment, taking everything in. Though the weather was just as chilly as it had been all week, the air here was nearly perfect temperature. Hermione had cast a rather strong warming charm over the whole area, allowing only a mild, refreshing breeze to drift through. He heard the rumblings of activity: chairs moving into their final locations, last-minute directions being shouted. Beyond that, there was the quiet roar of the sea. Barely louder than a hum in the background, Draco loved the sound of the waves crashing against the side of the cliff.

The cliff itself had been warded to prevent anyone, although Draco guessed it was mainly there for him, from wandering off the edge. Thanks to a rough layout that Hermione had managed to create from his Braille typewriter, Draco knew the general arrangement. The center aisle was enclosed with rows of chairs on either side, leading to a platform near the edge of the cliff.  Once the ceremony started, Draco and Hermione would be facing each other in the center of the platform, their bridal party spreading out on either side.

“The man of the hour!” Blaise shouted from somewhere over Draco’s right shoulder. “Are you enjoying your last fifteen minutes as a free man?”

“If an erratic heart rate and sweaty palms are signs of enjoyment, then absolutely,” Draco replied dryly.

“No need to get graphic, mate,” said Blaise. His disgust was apparent, but Draco could detect Blaise’s attempt to lighten his mood. “I’ve been instructed to cart you off to a little tent to our right. You can hang out in there while the groomsmen escort the guests to their seats. Speaking of guests, they should be arriving any minute so I only have a minute to show you where it is.” Blaise wasted no time, crunching gravel under his heel as he turned and walked away.

Narcissa, who hadn’t left Draco’s side, gracefully slid her hand around her son’s arm. Draco sent a grateful smile in her direction as she led them to the tent. 

Before he knew it, it was time for the ceremony to begin. Arm in arm, Draco and his mother walked down the aisle. He brought her to her seat in the front row – first chair to the right – and walked up the mildly sloping platform. Last night’s dress rehearsal had clearly paid off. The Minister cleared his throat, confirming Draco was in the correct place on the platform.

Music lilted in the background as he heard the bridal party walking down the aisle in pairs, knowing Ginny and Blaise were bringing up the rear. The tune slowly transformed into the wedding march and Draco listened as the guests rose. 

A sharp intake of breath sounded to his left. “You lucky bastard,” whispered Blaise. “She’s gorgeous.” 

Draco wiped his moist palms on the front of his robes, trying in vain to appear calm and collected. He picked up the light click of Hermione’s heels and the heavier gait of her father as they drew near. A few moments later, her father gave her away, his voice thick as he struggled to maintain his composure. 

They had finally made it. Draco grinned as he prepared for the next few minutes that would change his life; every doubt, fear, and anxious thought vanishing when his bride took his hand. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Draco?” Hermione called from the bathroom.

“Yes, Mrs. Malfoy,” answered Draco, loving the way her new name rolled off his tongue.

“Have I told you about the new research I came across a few months ago?” Her voice grew louder as she walked towards their bed. She crawled in, snuggling against Draco with her head resting on his bare chest. “There’s a wizard in Russia who’s been experimenting with –“

“I’m sure that’s very nice, love, but that’s not exactly what I consider pillow talk,” he said. Leaning down, he kissed the top of her head, his mouth traveling down until he found the base of her neck, covering it with soft, sweet kisses.

“Just hear me out! He’s figured out a way to transfer memories. It’s not like viewing them in a pensieve, where you travel inside the memory. He’s discovered a method that allows you to extract a memory from one person and give it to another. It’s being kept mum for now, given the obvious unethical implications, but I was able to sit down and discuss his findings with him.”

“Mmm Hmm,” Draco murmured as he travelled down further, his lips moving across Hermione’s shoulder.

“Draco!” she shouted in apparent frustration, sitting up. Bewildered, Draco sat back against the headboard. What was going on with her? “I’m trying to tell you that I have something else to give you. It’s the second part of your wedding present. I can’t take all of the credit on this one though. I couldn’t have done it without Blaise.”

What in Merlin’s name was happening?

“What are you talking about? What does Blaise have to do with this?”

“This wouldn’t have been possible him. It’s his gift as a best man too. Really, he’s the only one doing the sacrificing here so you be sure to thank him.” 

“Hermione, I don’t underst –“

“Just hold still!” she instructed. Draco flinched slightly as he felt the tip of her wand press against his skull. Hermione spoke yet another incantation he didn’t understand; he should have been used to it by now. She had just finished speaking when Draco felt a surge energy coursing through his head. His mouth fell open as the darkness, the black void that had encompassed him for over three years, flickered. “Draco? Are you ok?”

“Help me out here, Hermione. Will you tell me what’s going on?” 

“Blaise gave you his memories from tonight. They’re yours now. Go ahead, take a look.”

After focusing his attention, an image came into view. Draco gasped as he looked at Hermione for the first time in nearly three and a half years. On the arm of her father, she slowly made her way towards him. It was undeniably the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. Her hair was swept to one side, cascading down in perfectly managed ringlets. Though the transparent veil covered her face, it concealed none of her beauty. He stared, riveted, as he drank her in. 

He’d been right about the dress. A strapless design, it hugged her gentle curves, flowing loosely from the waist down. Triumphant over all, however, were the single feature that he had spent countless nights dreaming of: her eyes. They were a deep brown, reminding him of cold winter nights when his mother would bring him hot cocoa in bed, yet sparkling with a light that seemed to grow by the second. When she neared close enough, he noticed she was gazing at something slightly to his right. Not a second later, the image shifted slightly.

She was staring at him, Draco realized. The smile that consumed her face, the tears that now glistened in her beautiful eyes: it was all for him. He watched as the veil was lifted from her face and her features became crystal clear. 

He found he liked her decision to wear make-up instead of a glamour charm. Her cheeks were tinged pink, her eyelids swept with a mix of light and dark purples, her upturned lips covered in a neutral sheen. 

The point of view moved again so that Draco could now see himself in the image. It was odd, seeing his own face after so long. He hadn’t been a particularly vain person, but he’d been raised to make sure he’d always looked his best. Used to seeing his reflection multiple times a day, the change had taken quite a bit of getting used to. 

It was even stranger to see himself without the frame of a mirror. He looked basically the same, he supposed. His features seemed slightly sharper, a little more defined. In all honesty, he’d forgotten what he looked like. How did that happen? How could someone forget their own face? 

As Draco watched, the ceremony unfolded before him. Before he knew it, he and Hermione were sharing their first kiss as man and wife. 

The scene changed to reveal a spacious banquet room. Ribbons in various shades of green hung between the high arches in the ceiling. They’d been charmed to rain down a constant shower of sparks, a sort of light, ever-present fireworks display. There was a mass array of tables, each one hosting an arrangement of protea [dracomontana](http://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Protea_dracomontana&action=edit&redlink=1)s in a tall, intricate vase. The flowers had been his favorite since he was a child. He’d been intrigued initially by the name but found he was equally fascinated with the form and design; the bright red and orange petals made some flowers look like they were on fire. 

There was a large, open square in the center of all the tables; the hardwood floor clearly meant for dancing. He watched on as people milled about. They ate, drank, and clearly enjoyed the event Hermione had taken such care to orchestrate.

As the reception continued, the vision changed once again, this time showing Hermione standing directly in front of him. Taking out her wand, she began writing a message in the air. 

**I have one more surprise for you. Get my attention and tell me “It’s time.”**

Confused, Draco did as he was told. He felt Hermione hop of the bed and he was soon being dragged to another spot in the room. He heard a click and the soft strains of a melody. His hand was guided to her waist and he felt her light touch on his shoulder, her other hand clasping his.

The Hermione in Blaise’s memory just stood there grinning the whole time. Draco still couldn’t get over the shock of seeing her after all this time. He’d been so terrified of his blurry mental images of her fading completely. There was no way he would let these striking memories disappear.

A few seconds later, she began writing again.

**All set? Good. Now I want you to read the numbers out loud as I write them. 1, 2, 3.**

Once again, Draco did as he was told. He watched as Hermione moved gracefully, the scenery behind her shifting as she turned and stepped in a familiar pattern. At the same time, he heard the music grow louder and his own body instinctively moved. 

Hermione’s voice rose above the song. “I realize it’s not quite the same, but I had Blaise learn the steps. I wanted you to experience our first dance the way I did.”

Draco never cried. He could count on one hand the number of times that tears had actually fallen from his eyes. But even he couldn’t deny the way his eyes stung and threatened to overflow. How had she known? She’d managed to give him the very things that he had so badly longed for. He continued to move to the music, relishing this chance to stare into her eyes. Wasn’t this the very thing he’d wished for since he’d asked her out years ago? 

It was everything he’d been imagining. Her gaze stayed locked on his the whole time and he had no doubt that the Hermione he held in his arms was doing the same. He never wanted it to end. He wanted to stay lost in those eyes forever. They were so affectionate; they sparkled with every emotion she must have been feeling. As they neared the end of the routine, they became glassy and a few drops were soon sliding down her stunning face. She took a step back, wiping off her cheeks. She blew him a kiss, mouthed “I love you,” and then she was gone.

When the oppressive darkness returned, Draco was surprised to his own face was quite damp. Hermione gently wiped away his tears, bringing her forehead to rest against his. 

“I love you,” he whispered. He didn’t dare raise his voice any louder, not trusting it to remain steady. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to tell you –“

His words interrupted by Hermione’s lips against his. Unlike the sweet and tender kisses she usually delivered, this was urgent, hungry. Her hands twisted in his hair and her body pressed flush against his. She pulled away after a few moments, leading Draco back to their bed. Draco moved back against the headboard as he waited for her to join him. Straddling him, she leaned close enough for him to feel her hot breath on his face. When she spoke, her voice was low, almost gravelly with desire.

“I don’t need you to tell me. Just show me.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel no shame in saying that this is by far my favorite chapter. When I rediscovered this story on my hard drive, this is the chapter that urged me to put it back out into the world. It makes me so excited (if slightly nervous) to finally have it published.
> 
> It's also slightly bittersweet because the next chapter is the final one! Thank you, as always, for the support!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me start by saying I am SO SORRY for the delay on this!! I took a trip out of the country and was not able to post this before I left, like I originally wanted to. Perhaps I was subconsciously not ready to let this story go. It's so bittersweet to say this: here's the final chapter!

**{9/19/2006}**

Draco stepped out of the fireplace into the Manor, the place that had once again become his home. Their home, technically. His flat had been a great beginning home for the newlyweds. They hadn’t needed much space and Hermione had spent so much time there before they got married that she was well aware of the layout, of Draco’s routine.

After two years in his flat, they had decided they were ready for a change. With Narcissa now living in Paris, the Manor had been empty for several years. The house elves had remained, however, and they assured him the estate had never been in better shape.

The main reason for the move was a topic that was still sensitive for Draco: Hermione had been talking about wanting to start a family. She hadn’t begged, or anything. She’d slipped it in when she found a good opportunity. But Draco had been able to read between the lines, could decipher mentions of how adorable her cousin’s new baby was; Hermione was yearning for a child of her own.

The subject had come up, eventually, and he knew there was no way he could deny her this. How could he refuse her something she wanted so badly? 

He’d told her he was hesitant because he had no idea how to be a father. He had said that he didn’t want to screw up a kid just because he’d never had a decent father figure to look up to. He’d made it seem like he was only worried about all the normal issues that future fathers find themselves worried about.

He hadn’t been entirely honest. 

Everything he’d said was true; there was no doubt about that. It was just… 

A child, especially a child of Hermione’s, deserved better than a shadow of a parent. He worried he’d never be able to care for their child the way he or she deserved.

And he was angry. Angry at what he was being robbed of.

He’d never be able to look at a paper filled with colorful scribbles and tell them what a beautiful picture they’d drawn. He’d never be able to watch a dance recital or a quidditch match. He’d never even be able see his own child take their first steps.

Quite simply, it stung. He’d come so far in the past few years, he really had, but this hurt worst of all. He was devastated that these opportunities had been ripped away from him. Moreover, he was concerned about being able to help care for a child.

What about when the kid started walking? How could he ever know that his son or daughter would be safe? They could stick their finger in an electrical socket or knock something on top of themselves and Draco wouldn’t be able to do a thing to prevent it. 

He didn’t want to put more burden on Hermione. He wanted them to be partners in raising their child. He just didn’t know how that would be possible.

But underneath it all, under the fear and the doubt and the sense of inadequacy, a part of Draco was very excited. He yearned for it too. When he lay his head down at night, he imagined holding his little boy or girl in his arms for the first time. He longed for that day.

Up until recently, it had all been hypothetical talk. But a few months ago, they’d made the decision to really start trying. So far, all the pregnancy tests had come back negative but they’d only been trying for a short time. The timing would work itself out; somehow, it always did.

As Draco walked through the doorway into the hall, his fingers traced the intricate designs carved into the wood. They hadn’t always been there. Hermione had insisted on redesigning all the doors and entryways as soon as they moved in. It was only after they’d been completed that she’d told him their significance: every single doorway had a different pattern. He’d never have to concentrate on if he’d calculated the correct number of steps or counted the right number of doors; he only had to feel the carvings to know which room he was at. He hardly needed the aid any longer, but it had been a life-saver in the beginning. 

He had lived at the Manor immediately following his release from St. Mungo’s but he’d lived at his own flat for so long that he’d nearly forgotten the layout. It took him a few weeks, but eventually, with the help of the engraved doorways and his cane, he’d remembered the layout of the vast space.

Draco continued down the hall and up the staircase. As he drew near, he could hear Hermione rummaging about their room. 

“I’m home, love,” he called as he walked into their bedroom.

“Wait! Stay right there!” Hermione yelled as she ran into the room. He heard more shuffling and the clacking of her heels against the hardwood. “Sorry, I had thrown my clothes all over the floor. I did finally decide on my midnight blue dress robes but the damage to the room was already done. I didn’t want you tripping all over the hangers and strewn about clothes. I’m running terribly behind, if you couldn’t tell.”

“It’s fine, it really doesn’t matter.”

“Yes it does! The reservations are at 8, my hair isn’t even finished yet, and I haven’t –“

“I told you, it’s fine. It’s your birthday and you shouldn’t be so stressed. We can push the reservations back if we really need to.” He closed the distance between them and reached out, placing one hand on her waist and bringing her close. He placed the other hand on her face, brought his lips down to meet hers, and let them linger there for a few moments, doing his best to easy away the tension.

“You’re right. Maybe I’ll just use a couple of those glamour charms I read about in this last issue of Witch Weekly. There never seem to be any decent tips for hair, though.”

“Well, can we really classify it as hair? I always thought it was more of a mane…” Draco chuckled and plastered on his signature smirk. He was rewarded with a swift smack across his arm. “Kidding! I’m kidding,” he said while he held his arms in surrender.

“You better be! Now go pick out your robes and get ready. Your hair looks a bit like a tumbleweed from all those hours riding that blasted broom.” She brought Draco’s hand to back to her cheek so he could feel her smirk. It lacked the Malfoy menace but it was clear he’d taught her well over the years.

“You sure know how to pump up a guy’s self esteem,” he said with a  _ hmph _ as he walked in the direction of the closet. He went to the right half, reaching up to feel the labels in each of the robes. He searched until the Braille lettering notified him that he was holding his charcoal grey dress robes. If he remembered correctly, that color should go nicely with Hermione’s midnight blue. If not, she would let him know.

He got dressed and smoothed down his hair. Apparently she hadn’t been kidding. His hair didn’t usually have so much volume. He applied gel until he felt it was once again a manageable size.

“Ready!” announced Hermione, her heels clicking as she raced out of the bathroom. “You all set?” she asked as she grabbed onto his arm.

“Yes but why don’t we just go ahead and apparate separately. I’m sick of side-along and I remember where the restaurant is.”

“Are you sure?” Her tone was skeptical.

“Positive. I’ll see you there.” He pictured the front of the building in his mind. Like most images he tried to draw to mind these days, it was more of an impression than an actual picture. The edges of the vision were hazy, like an ancient, neglected mirror that’s collected too much dust.

He forced himself to focus a little harder on the figure and spun in place.

His feet barely hit solid ground before he fell over, desperately clutching his side. A searing pain was coursing through the right side of his rib cage. He tried to breathe but each attempt made it more difficult. He was only vaguely aware that the ragged, echoing gasps were coming from his own throat. 

As he tried to concentrate on something other than the pain, he realized that the warm sensation trickling through his fingers was blood.

A pop sounded a few feet to his left, announcing his wife’s arrival. “Draco?” she asked, anxiety evident in her tone. She must have finally spotted him because a second later, she rushed to his side, breathing out a chorus of  _ no, no, no _ . 

“Hermione –“ he tried to answer but found that even that single word required too much effort. The pain was increasing and he was beginning to feel lightheaded from the blood loss. 

“Shhh don’t try to talk,” she whispered, stroking his head with one hand. With the other she gently pried his own hand away to survey the damage. Judging by her sharp intake of breath, it wasn’t good. “You’ve been splinched. It’s too extensive for me to heal on my own. We have to get you to St. Mungo’s.”

She laced her fingers through his blood drenched ones, preparing to apparate them both when she suddenly jerked up. “Shit! We can’t apparate you if you’re already splinched. It’ll just do more damage. Think, think, think…”

Draco tried to focus on taking steady breaths but each inhale sent another wave of pain rippling through his body. The usually oppressive darkness was now spotted with tiny white explosions. If he hadn’t been in such agony, he might have appreciated the closest thing to a fireworks show that he’d been able to see in years. 

“Draco? Draco, squeeze your hand if you can hear me.” He squeezed as hard as he could, regretting the whimper of pain that it caused Hermione. “Okay, I’m going to place a temporary sealing charm over the wound. It won’t do much but you should be able to apparate with it.”

He felt the effects almost immediately. There were pinpricks of energy along the tattered edges of the gash and he no longer felt blood flowing out of his side. His hand was once again grasped in Hermione’s and he felt the tug of side-along apparition.

When the motion tore his wound even deeper, he tried not to cry out, resulting in a rather undignified and pathetic moan. He barely registered the frenzy of footsteps and Hermione’s shouts for help before he faded from consciousness.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Waking up always involved the same routine.

First, something in Draco’s brain switched on, indicating that he was indeed awake. He would lie still for a few moments, usually trying to hold onto or recapture whatever dream he’d been experiencing. He would stretch his limbs and roll his neck to rid the stiffness that had settled during the night. Then he would open his eyes to total darkness.

Most days, he was prepared for it. He’d long ago accepted that he could still lead a decent life despite having a disability. Adversity makes one stronger and all that optimistic rubbish that Hermione was constantly spouting had begun to sink in at some point. He doubted he would ever be happy with his predicament, but he knew better than anyone that life is not particularly concerned with bestowing happiness. 

So most days, he woke up and he was fine. But there were some days, mornings where the cloud of sleep hung a little heavier, when he forgot. 

He would open his eyes and be startled, flailing alarmed arms in a desperate attempt to see his hand in front of his face, only to remember his circumstances one heartbreaking second later. It was almost like receiving the news for the first time, the impact of his loss crashing over him once again.

Luckily, today was not one of those days.

He awoke to feel scratchy sheets under his downturned palms. The room smelled wrong, obnoxiously sterile with a hint of lemon and not at all like the pumpkin candles that Hermione insisted stay lit throughout the Manor. There was an odd twang on his tongue that tasted the way metal smelled, if that made any sense. It was completely silent except for the subtle, shallow breaths coming from someplace beside his bed and the occasional  _ flick _ of a page being turned. 

He reached his arms over his head to stretch and let out a groan at the unexpected soreness on his right side. Memories of last night quickly came flitting back to him. He reached down to his naked torso to feel smooth, unmarred skin. The gash from last night had been effectively healed, leaving behind only a lingering impression of the injury.

“How do you feel?” asked Hermione. As she spoke, she moved from her seat, presumably in a chair against the wall, to the small empty space on the left side of Draco’s bed. She laid her head on his chest and wrapped an arm around his bare stomach, careful to avoid the site of last night’s wound.

“Sore, mostly. I guess that’s the end of my apparating,” he answered, a bit dejected. Here was yet another slice of independence being stripped away from him. 

True, he’d come to hate apparition. He detested dropping into the middle of some location, with absolutely no reference point to his surroundings. But it was the principle of the matter. Before, he rarely apparated because he didn’t want to. Now, he wouldn’t apparate because couldn’t. 

“Healer Martin says it’s because apparition requires a clear picture of the location you’re traveling to.” She placed her other hand over the arm that Draco had draped across her waist. Rubbing small comforting circles into the back of his hand, she continued speaking, “We’ll just continue using the floo network. You liked that much better anyways. There will be times when you will just have to side-along with me or someone else, but if you really hate it that much, I can research other options. I have a friend who works in the portkey department at the Ministry of Magic so she could probably get anything we request approved as long as we think ahead to ask.”

“What time is it?” he asked, realizing his Braille watch had been removed. Although it was yet another muggle invention that his wife had talked him into, he felt quite lost without it. Without his wand nearby, he had no other way of discerning what point in the day it was.

“It’s close to midnight. It’s actually a good thing that you passed out because Healer Martin was able to work without you being in pain. She healed the wound back together and coaxed a blood replenishing potion down your throat.”

Draco nodded, absorbing the information on the night’s events. “I’m sorry for ruining your birthday, love,” he told her.

“Don’t be. I’m sorry that I couldn’t do a better job of healing you myself. I was too panicked and I didn’t think to use a stitching spell instead. The charm I used is fairly weak, which is why it split back open once we apparated. I’m so sorry,” her voice hitched on the last word, no doubt remembering the sight of his injury. He was sure it had been a ghastly sight. 

“Hey, close your eyes.” This was his version of  _ look at me _ . He was unable to look into her eyes to comfort her or chase away her doubts, but over the years, he had found his touch often had the same effect. He brought his right hand to her face, sweeping his thumb across her closed eyes first before moving on to her cheekbones. He could feel the tension leaving her with each brush of his hand so he continue exploring, eventually bringing his hand to rest in her hair. Now released from its pins, it flowed uncharacteristically smoothly down her back. “I’m fine now. There’s nothing else to worry about. I’m just disappointed that we didn’t get to properly celebrate your birthday.”

“Well it’s not over yet! I still have five minutes left. And since I still have five minutes left, I want to ask something from you. I know you might not like it but I’m asking you to at least consider it. Please.”

Draco took a deep breath and released it in a sigh. “Okay, go ahead,” he answered, a little nervous. What was he getting himself into now…

\--------------------------------------------------------------

**{11/23/2006}**

Draco clenched his eyes shut and hung on tightly to the stair rail. His breathing was erratic and his chest ached as he tried to continue to second floor. His legs were screaming at him as he continued to put one foot in front of the other.

“Come on, Draco, you’re almost here. Three more steps and you’re done,” called Hermione from the top of the staircase. Her voice was encouraging but firm. She evidently had no intention of letting him slack off. 

She had labeled this “physical therapy,” but wasn’t therapy supposed to be helpful? This felt like torture. 

Still, if torture is what he was required to go through, then so be it. He could deal with whatever she or anyone else threw his way. 

Because when he opened his eyes, he saw his beautiful wife waiting for him at the top of the staircase.

It had been two months and he couldn’t stop staring. He wanted to spend every minute memorizing her, afraid that there might come a time when he would be permanently forced back into the darkness. If by some terrible twist of fate he once again went blind, this would be one of the images he would want to remember most.

She stood against the banister, hands clasped together. A look of trust, or perhaps faith, was etched across her features. The beam of light streaming in from the elongated second floor windows caught her hair, giving her a faint halo of stubborn hairs that refused to lie flat. 

Her face had changed but it was still undeniably her. The soft lines of youth were gone, replaced with more defined angles and making her appear more sophisticated. Although sophisticated might be a bit of a stretch at the moment, considering her faded maroon sweatpants and oversized jumper. Maybe that was some sort of motivation technique: draw him up the stairs so he could take off those ridiculous clothes and appreciate the striking body of the woman he had married. 

It wouldn’t be the first time she’d come up with some rather… inventive methods of encouragement. 

He drew a deep breath into his deprived lungs and climbed the next stair. He knew he wasn’t doing himself any favors by slacking off. He needed to build up his endurance if he wanted a normal life back.

The trip to St. Mungo’s on Hermione’s birthday had ended up being one of the best things that had ever happened to him. While he was asleep, she had done some additional research and was able to speak to Healer Martin about his case. As it turned out, Healer Martin was not just a general healer. She specialized in long-term spell recovery and rehabilitation. 

Healer Martin, or Cassandra as she’d soon insisted they call her, had told Hermione about her methods and solutions to help patients dealing with lingering spells or curses. Since there was a variety of spells with no known counter-curses, most of them dark magic, there had been a need to find a way to help the people affected. 

Cassandra had developed, after about two years of trials, a spell to fight the curses remaining in wizards and witches’ bodies. This spell attacked the initial curse and would continue to fight it indefinitely. However since the spell couldn’t be catered to each case, it often resulted in side effects. 

Draco knew he was lucky. The spell had only left him with a lingering weakness. It would never fade, but with Hermione’s “physical therapy,” he would be able to build up his strength and endurance and, in theory, he eventually wouldn’t even notice it. The weakness was due to the spell’s constant efforts to fight whatever curse remained in his body. The curse was apparently so strong that Cassandra’s spell needed to use Draco’s energy to properly combat it.

The first few days had been rather difficult; there was no use sugar coating it. He’d tried to walk across the room and had ended up collapsing before he reached the door. Cassandra and Hermione had both been quick to point out that this was not a process he could rush. Since then, he had spent hours each day building up his strength. Relief only came when he was sitting down or closing his eyes.

When he first came back home, he’d been forced to keep his eyes closed so he could move around the Manor with ease. It was comforting to know that the darkness was only temporary, but it was still frustrating to be forced to rely on his other senses when his sight now worked. When they left the Manor, he still needed to use his cane, unless they were sitting down at a restaurant or something in that regard. Hermione had placed a blinding hex on his sunglasses so that when he was wearing them, at least he didn’t have to clench his eyes shut.

He couldn’t wait for the day that he could discard his cane forever, but he was trying to relish in the good fortune that he had been blessed with. He honestly never thought he would ever see his wife’s face again. His whole life had suddenly changed again, this time for the better. He had so many more options to consider and he was anxious to get on with his life, to travel and explore and have adventures.

But he had to get stronger first. 

He ascended the final stair and leaned against the wall for support. He was promptly greeted with a swat across the arm.

“You were supposed to be climbing the stairs all in one go, not taking a break near the end! You need to push yourself as hard as you can for as long as you can. And what was with all that staring nonsense? You’re the one who said –“

He cut her off with an ardent kiss, relishing the ability to locate her mouth directly without needing to judge the distance between them or use his hand to find her lips. 

There would be plenty of time for more exercises. There would be countless more heated arguments and sweet, intimate moments. There would be trips all over the world, just the two of them. There would be children and dance recitals and quidditch matches. They had a whole lifetime ahead of them.

“There’s something else I would much rather spend my energy on,” he said, quirking an eyebrow. He watched Hermione’s lips curl into a wicked smirk. She grabbed his hand and he closed his eyes, allowing her to lead them to the bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it! I was truly expecting to get little to no response to this story so I have been SO blown away. A massive thank you to everyone who has read, commented, and/or left kudos on this.
> 
> I don't currently have plans to post any further stories but I also don't quite feel ready to let this universe go! As a way of saying thank you to @hoshiakari and @mlmrl for being so amazing and commenting on every single chapter, I'd like to give you both the option to request a one-shot in this universe! You don't have to, of course, but it's the least I could do considering you provided me with such constant encouragement.
> 
> If anyone else has requests/ideas, I can't promise anything but please feel free to send them my way! Something tells me I'm not ready to be done with Draco & Hermione. Love you guys!


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